


make up your mind

by sketchedsmiles



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Competition, Eventual Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Sibling Rivalry, background sakuatsu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28885923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchedsmiles/pseuds/sketchedsmiles
Summary: When Atsumu draws the attention onto himself with the announcement that he is in a serious relationship, Osamu refuses to be outdone.Suna Rintarou is the furthest thing from the ideal fake boyfriend, but his penchant for chaos might be what Osamu needs.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 438
Kudos: 464





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: suna rintarou, chaos bringer

For once, the inside of Onigiri Miya wasn’t crowded with customers. In the aftermath of the lunch hour rush, the swarm of people stopping by to occupy one of the many tables or take an order to go slowed into an even trickle, and Miya Osamu would be lying if he said he wasn’t secretly relieved.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love his job. Of course he did. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to survive the incessant chatter of customers, the long hours spent in the kitchen crafting the perfect shape of onigiri, or the tedious paperwork that went into purchasing supplies or fulfilling catering orders. If Osamu didn’t love his business with every piece of his heart, he would have given it up a long time ago. But even when you loved your work, the prospect of a break always came as a relief, and as the line of customers disappeared, Osamu snatched the free moment to tear his cap off his head and run a hand through his dark hair.

“Oh, c’mon,” Ginjima said as he returned back to the counter with a full tray of empty glasses. “Today hasn’t even been that busy. We’ve had worse.”

Ginjima was one of Osamu’s closest friends. From the moment they met back at Inarizaki High School, he and Gin had stuck by each other, for better or for worse. When Osamu first started figuring out the logistics of starting a business from the ground up post-graduation, Ginjima had offered to work alongside him. In retrospect, it was a relief. The rest of the staff had been full of strangers when Onigiri Miya had first opened, and the laborious stress that had compounded as the obstacles had grown had been made easier with Ginjima’s steadfast loyalty. 

But there were still days Osamu wanted to throttle him. 

“Let me have this,” Osamu said, pushing his cap back onto his head. “I’m exhausted. Thank fuck it’s Friday. I’ve been lookin’ forward to the weekend all week.”

Ginjima cast a look over at the wide windows that took up most of the front of the store. On good days, the sunlight poured in without fail, streaming through the glass and offering a pleasant view outdoors as customers filed in. On bad days, it showcased the stormy clouds, giving a visual for the patter of raindrops against the sidewalk. “The week ain’t over yet,” Ginjima said. “And it looks like yer least favorite customer is here.”

Osamu whipped his head toward the entrance as the bell chimed over the open door. Sure enough, as the first of the pair ambled inside, his features contorted with a scowl. 

He supposed he should’ve seen it as a blessing to live in the same place as his twin. It meant that even when the waves of homesickness hit him in full force, it was easy to find a small piece of home in Atsumu. On the other hand, with Atsumu’s bratty attitude, his closeness simply entailed too much leeching off Osamu and his onigiri and what he called the “family discount.” It didn’t matter how many times Osamu told Atsumu to piss off and bother someone else; Atsumu always wound up in his orbit without fail.

Atsumu was dressed in a usual black tracksuit with the logo of a jackal imprinted over the heart—the mascot of the second division team Atsumu had coached for the last few years. Osamu had always intended to end his volleyball career after high school. That had been a choice. The end to Atsumu’s volleyball career had come by force in the form of a devastating injury that kept him from being able to keep up with the exertion and stamina of a V. League team.

Those first few months post-injury had been a nightmare, filled with endless tears and screaming matches and breakdowns. Atsumu had undergone the five stages of grief before he came to terms with the fact that the future he’d envisioned for himself was no longer in reach and that he had to create a new vision. Coaching was the lifeline Atsumu needed, and to this day, he grasped at it with a grip so tight that it matched Osamu’s dedication to _his_ work. 

But Atsumu had a knack for coaching. Even if he didn’t always express himself in the kindest of manners, he understood the sport with an eye that few ever had. He knew how to take monsters of volleyball and tweak them until they learned to dance to his tune. It had always been one of his strong points as a setter, and that strength had followed him into his career. The MSBY Black Jackals reached varying amounts of success ever since they’d signed Atsumu on as a coach, and Osamu knew that it was a matter of time before they climbed into the first division.

If Atsumu was here, that meant that practice had finished for the day—and he had no other obligations other than to bother Osamu.

Someone followed at Atsumu’s heels, and when Osamu recognized her, the scowl morphed into a bright smile. “Hi, Mama.”

“Oh, so you’re happy to see Mama, but you frown when you see my face,” Atsumu complained as the pair reached the counter. Ginjima greeted them with a swift smile before leaving them to it, hurrying into the kitchen with the dirty dishes. “That’s rude.”

“Boys,” their mother chided as Osamu opened his mouth to respond. The simple word was enough to have them both clamming up. She spun around to face Osamu properly. “Hello, Osamu. How are ya today?”

“Good. It hasn’t been too busy.”

“Do ya think you can take a small break to sit down with us for a bit?”

Although the question made him a bit uneasy, there was no reason to refuse. He hadn’t had the chance to take his lunch break yet, and there hadn’t been a new customer in the last ten minutes. Ginjima and the others could manage the store for a bit. “Sure. Lemme ask Gin to man the counter when he comes out. What can I getcha?”

“Spicy tuna, please,” she answered, nudging Atsumu with her elbow. “Tell Samu what you want.”

Atsumu scanned over the glass display as if he hadn’t seen it a million times before. He’d taste tested for Osamu while Osamu was still in the process of perfecting the compact triangular shape to onigiri and measuring the right amount of filling. He knew everything on the menu. “Umeboshi,” he mumbled.

Osamu cupped a hand over his ear and leaned in. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear ya.”

Atsumu snarled. “Umeboshi,” he repeated in a much higher volume than was necessary. 

A few of the customers seated at the counter swiveled their heads at the loud voice, but they soon lost interest, returning to their meals and conversations. Their mother looked between them before leaving to pick a table out for the three of them. Atsumu followed behind her, looking very much like a gloomy teenager rather than a man close to his thirties. Osamu worked on preparing their orders while waiting for Ginjima to return from the kitchen, and when he did, Osamu left him in charge before carrying over a tray filled with onigiri to the table where his mother and Atsumu sat.

Both of them waited for him to sit before thanking him for the food and digging in. Osamu noticed that Atsumu’s table manners were much better in the presence of their mother—although he hadn’t had the chance to see the proof himself much these past few days. It was rare that their mother left Hyogo, so her having spent the last few days in Osaka with them felt more and more like a spectacle. She’d return tomorrow on one of the early trains, and he and Atsumu had already agreed to drive her to the station together. 

“Not bad,” Atsumu said after swallowing. “I might just pay ya this time.”

“Doubt it,” Osamu mumbled. “You haven’t paid me the last five times you’ve been here.” His gaze traveled to their mother a lot more than he expected, noting every reaction she had. It wasn’t like this was the first time she ate his onigiri, but feeding a parent something you made was a very vulnerable experience. Each time, he waited with bated breath for her response, and though she was enthusiastic after every meal, that initial nervousness over the first bite never faded. “How is it?”

She nodded, a pleased smile on her lips. “Brilliant as always, Samu.”

Osamu resisted the urge to sit up straighter and beam. Judging by the look Atsumu sent his way, he wasn’t doing a good job at it. “Thank you.” He shifted his attention over to Atsumu. “How was practice?”

“It was good.” Atsumu paused to take a long gulp of water, the ice in his glass clinking together. “I let them out a little early today so we could come here.”

“Yer game is Sunday, right?”

In addition to the restaurant that remained open during the week, Osamu catered for most of the Black Jackals’ home games. It was a side endeavor that Atsumu had wriggled him into, though Osamu didn’t mind it. He enjoyed the publicity that hosting a stand at a second division match gave him, and all sales benefited the business in the end. It was a small chunk out of his weekend that he carved out to spend watching MSBY’s matches in person while attending to the crowd before and after the game. Even though Osamu had given up volleyball, he still found room for it in his heart. That imprint would never disappear, no matter the distance or time that passed. He had the match schedule tacked up on his fridge, and he was already scheduled to set up the stand on Sunday, but he liked hearing the confirmation from Atsumu firsthand.

“Yeah,” Atsumu said. He took a few small bites before continuing, “The game’s early in the morning. Ten, I think. You’re gonna be there, right?”

“Yeah,” Osamu said. That was the plan. It would be him alone, as he’d done numerous times. He had plenty of experience controlling the stand himself. “I’ll be there.”

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to stay for the game,” their mother said, patting Atsumu on the arm. “I really do have to get back to work, otherwise I’d try to make it.”

“No worries, Mama,” Atsumu said through puffed-up cheeks. The manners he’d summoned up had gone down the drain at this point. “It’s no big deal.”

“You two are always so busy,” she murmured, as if she was coming to that realization right now. She picked up another onigiri and took hearty bites out of it before setting it down to sip at her own glass of water. “I feel like I never get to see ya anymore. You _are_ both plannin’ on spending the weekend in Hyogo for yer father’s birthday, right?”

“Yes,” the two of them said in unison. 

Their demanding schedules didn’t allow for much time off, and even if it did, neither twin was willing to ask for it. Atsumu never liked being far away from Osaka, convinced that something would go wrong the second he strayed, and the consistent practice schedule called for his complete focus. Osamu was in the same boat: while he trusted his employees just fine, the worry that a disaster would occur when he wasn’t around to fix it buried its way into his mind. 

It was like their respective careers had a tight grip on them in return, refusing to let them go for even a second. The numerous failures and setbacks that had arisen before the twins had reached their respective successes burned in their memories, and now that they had what they’d worked so hard for, neither wanted to slack off for a moment. 

But their father’s birthday couldn’t be missed. It was one of the few weekends Osamu took off without fail (not that the restaurant was open on weekends, anyway), and he returned to Hyogo to spend time with his family. Atsumu did the same, and the reminder from their mother made Osamu write a mental note to book his train ticket before the prices skyrocketed. 

“He’s excited to see ya,” she said, setting her glass down on the table. A ring of condensation had formed on the surface, and she dragged her finger through it as she spoke. “He’s happy to have any time with the two of you—even if you’re just relaxin’ around the house.”

“We’re excited too,” Osamu said with a tight smile. There was an underlying note of accusation in the statement, even if she hadn’t meant for it to come across. It was the kind of accusation that was aimed at absent children that never made time for their families. It made Osamu want to shrivel up. 

Atsumu nodded along eagerly, though there was a tenseness to his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. “You think he’ll wanna play volleyball with us? We can set up the net in the backyard again.”

“It would be uneven, idiot. You can’t play two-on-one volleyball.”

Atsumu stuck his tongue out, and Osamu let himself relax. This was familiar at least. He could handle Atsumu’s taunts and jeers. He had a whole lifetime of experience doing so.

“Will either of you be bringin’ someone?” their mother cut in. As two heads turned in her direction, she offered them a half-hearted shrug. “If either of you are seein’ anyone, and you’d like to invite them, feel free. It’ll just be us.”

Osamu held back his groan. If there was another thing that had come with age, it was the irritating remarks that came upon realizing he was single at the ripe age of twenty-seven. He was on the receiving end of it from several customers that commented on how their daughters would be so lucky to have such a strong and handsome man tending to them, and many had even gone so far as to set him up on blind dates that left him anxious and numb. 

It wasn’t that Osamu wasn’t interested in a relationship. It would be nice to have someone to share his apartment with. Someone who’d be willing to test his recipes and let him cook for them and curl up on the couch with him. It was an interesting fantasy, but when it came down to reality, his busy schedule didn’t allow room for another person. Every minute of every day came down to the wire, and the short-lived relationships he’d had in his adult life had come to their inevitable ends because of this: Osamu was far too concerned with his career to devote himself to someone else. 

Although he and Atsumu disagreed on many things, this was something they both understood. Between a taxing practice schedule and a tight-knit set of matches and public pressure to make something more out of MSBY, Atsumu didn’t have time for another person, either. 

But that didn’t stop everyone around them from being involved in their respective love lives. Ginjima had tried to set Osamu up with a few acquaintances, though that had crashed and burned. Atsumu had gone out a couple of times with one of Osamu’s most frequent customers, and that had ended in a terrible split and a loss of a loyal customer, a fact Osamu still grieved to this day, because when it came to Atsumu, he was _extremely_ petty. Regardless of the time and place, neither Miya twin could form a long-lasting relationship, and that drove their parents up the walls. 

The subtle suggestions of settling down had strengthened with each year, and Osamu should have seen this coming. It had been a while since either of their parents brought up their pathetic attempts at romance. He was due an episode of complete and utter embarrassment.

“Uh—you want us to bring someone?” Atsumu asked. 

Their mother shrugged, her gaze fixed downward. “If you’re seein’ someone at the moment. It would be nice to meet them.” Her eyes flitted up to their faces. “I know the two of you are very dedicated to yer work, and that makes yer father and I very happy, but we also wanna remind you that life isn’t all about workin’. It would be nice if the two of you could find someone that makes you happy—the same way yer father and I make each other happy.”

Osamu’s lip curled. 

“Don’t make that face, Samu,” she said, cutting a glance as sharp as a knife’s edge at him. “I just get worried ‘bout the two of you. You both live alone. You go to work, and you go home. It’s not healthy for either of you to be so focused on one thing.” She braced her chin on her knuckles. “At this point, yer father and I don’t even know which of you are gonna settle down first. It’ll be a miracle when it happens.”

Osamu opened his mouth to object, because this was borderline ridiculous. Yes, he was focused on his business, but that was because he worked so _hard_ to get here. He had time to settle down. He was perfectly content with spending his twenties building Onigiri Miya up to its fullest potential. Maybe he could slow down in his thirties, but right now, he didn’t understand why he had to waste time seeking something that did little for his personal happiness. 

And—if anyone was going to settle down first, it would be him. Atsumu was about as charming as a dirty rag. 

“Actually,” Atsumu broke in, his voice cracking on the first word. He cleared his throat once before continuing. “I’m seein’ someone.”

Osamu whipped around to face Atsumu, who was in the middle of wiping off his grubby fingers on a napkin. “With yer personality? I think not.”

“Shut up, Samu!”

Their mother perked up, her shoulders high and her eyes glazed over with keen interest. “Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”

“It’s pretty new,” Atsumu mumbled. He kept fiddling with the napkin as if he couldn’t bear to meet anyone’s stare. “We started seein’ each other a few months back. I didn’t want to mention anythin’ in case it didn’t work out.”

Osamu felt as though his head had been crushed in a blender. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of Atsumu in a steady relationship. He and Atsumu were meant to be on the same side here. They were _both_ meant to be too preoccupied with work to invest in anything romantic. Atsumu had basically thrown him to the lions, and Osamu knew that the pressure on his shoulders had intensified by the mere remark that Atsumu was seeing someone. 

Osamu hated this. He hated that this was sprung on him out of nowhere, and most of all, he hated that Atsumu had any kind of edge over him. It wasn’t like their parents had a favorite son, but things like this definitely put Atsumu on a higher level. How had Atsumu of all people managed to get someone to stick around for _months_?

Osamu glanced over at their mother once—and immediately wished he hadn’t. It was like her whole demeanor had changed, her harsh critique over their lifestyles softening more into the coddling parent that had fretted over them while forcing them to wear shirts with their nicknames etched onto the fronts. 

Yeah, Atsumu had her. Hook, line, and sinker.

“That’s brilliant, Atsumu,” she said cheerfully. “What’s their name?”

“It’s kind of hard for an invisible person to have a name,” Osamu interrupted, venom tinging his words. 

Ignoring him, Atsumu answered, “Sakusa Kiyoomi.” His cheeks darkened into a faint blush, and Osamu faltered. Perhaps Atsumu actually _was_ in a relationship. And if this was a race to the end of their lives, Atsumu was _winning_.

_Shit._

“Poor guy,” Osamu commented. “I almost want to send him a card that says, ‘Thanks for taking him off our hands.’”

It was almost as if Osamu was no longer part of the conversation. Their mother leaned in closer, asking, “What’s he like?”

“Uh,” Atsumu stammered, and this time, Osamu was positive he was blushing. It was sickening. “He’s quite particular. He’s very methodical about everything he does. Likes to do things until they’re complete.”

This guy sounded like the exact opposite of someone who was involved with Atsumu. Atsumu was anything but particular. Anything but methodical. 

“How did the two of you meet?”

Atsumu scratched the nape of his neck. “He’s the nutritionist for my team. He, uh, plans out their diets for the week and decides what they’ll eat during away matches. His constant monitoring means the team hardly ever gets sick, which is always a bonus.”

That made this more believable. Atsumu’s entire life revolved around his coaching career. If he was going to get involved with anyone, it would have to be someone that stuck around the same circle. 

Their mother continued to swoon, and Osamu was starting to feel sick. He almost wished that a rush of customers would enter the store, giving him an excuse to leave this conversation. He never wanted to cut the time with his mother short, but right now, it didn’t seem like such a terrible idea. 

As she opened her mouth to ask another question, Osamu’s patience met its end. He wouldn’t let Atsumu best him. He wouldn’t let Atsumu _win—_ even if this was the most ridiculous competition they ever had _._ He slammed both of his palms against the table, the sound vibrating through the whole restaurant, and a few stunned customers turned in their seats at the noise.

“I’m also seein’ someone,” Osamu said once the attention had been drawn to him. It was the most pathetic lie that had ever come out of his mouth, even above the _I didn’t eat yer pudding, Tsumu_ incident back in high school. Osamu didn’t date. Everyone knew this. Yet, somehow, Osamu had convinced himself that this was a believable enough lie to tell. 

Atsumu’s eyes narrowed. “No, you're not. You literally only move between yer apartment and Onigiri Miya. Literally, if I tracked ya, you wouldn’t go anywhere else.”

“Osamu,” their mother began, folding her hands together on the table, “are you really? Or are you simply saying that ‘cause you don’t like bein’ left behind?”

 _The latter_ , Osamu thought. Instead, what left his mouth was, “’Course I am. We’ve only gone on a few dates, but I think there’s some potential there.”

As Atsumu’s scowl worsened, Osamu reveled in the momentary attention their mother bestowed upon him. “I just don’t understand why the two of you never say anything,” she said with a sigh. “Even if it doesn’t work out, it’s nice knowin’ the two of you are testin’ the waters.”

“Samu isn’t testing any waters. He’s lyin’!”

“I am not,” Osamu insisted, like a liar. One of his hands formed into a fist on top of the table. “You’ll see when it’s time for Papa’s birthday.”

“Boys,” their mother broke in at the first signs of the screaming match that was seconds away from occurring. “Tsumu, it isn’t kind to call yer brother a liar. Is it so hard to believe that he’s also involved with someone?”

If Atsumu was in a relationship, then surely the world was Osamu’s oyster. 

Atsumu made a noncommittal noise.

Their mother focused again on Osamu. “Of course we’d love to meet yer partner in person. If you can manage a whole weekend, then we’re more than happy to host.” 

As Atsumu’s shoulders slumped, Osamu stuck a tongue out at him. This was a victory in his book, a temporary one. Because as the severity of his lie started to settle, Osamu understood how well and truly _fucked_ he was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh look a wild suna rintarou appears

The repercussions of that lie slapped him in the face as he pressed his key fob to the reader outside his apartment building and let himself inside. While their mother hadn’t pressed for details, Osamu knew she was waiting for the right moment to pounce—namely, when the twins returned to Hyogo for the weekend, and they couldn’t avoid the full-on interrogation. The rest of his shift had dragged on, his brain numb as he took down orders mindlessly and locked up for the weekend. If the rest of his staff noticed his mind wandering, no one brought it up. As the last of the customers filed out and the chairs were stacked, Osamu consoled himself with the thought that he had at least one evening to process this shitstorm. 

Tomorrow morning, he and Atsumu would have to drop their mother off at the train station, and Osamu could already envision the onslaught of accusations and questions that would be thrown his way once the two were left alone. 

But Osamu had brought this upon himself. If he hadn’t been bothered by Atsumu pulling ahead of him, he could have sat back and savored the situation for what it was: a nice opportunity to mock Atsumu over the fact that someone had finally gotten over his shitty personality long enough to date him. And yet, instead, Osamu had dug himself into a hole in an effort to keep up, and now, he was left with a multitude of problems to sort through.

He could either (a) admit that he had lied and never live it down, (b) start dating someone and hope that it lasted long enough to take them to visit his parents’ home, or (c) pay some poor fool to pretend to be in a relationship with him. None of these options sounded favorable at the moment. In fact, they all sounded rather pathetic, and the twist of embarrassment hit him in flashes as he stamped his sneakers against the mat by the front door, brushing off all the dirt that clung to the bottom of his shoes. 

This was pathetic. Osamu released a snarl of frustration.

“You alright there, Osamu?”

Osamu froze, his head jerking upward. He hadn’t realized that he wasn’t alone. 

Osamu didn’t recognize most of his neighbors. While he could’ve made an effort to be friendly when he first moved in and offered free food in order to get people to like him, the nerves of moving to a new place in a new apartment alone had overwhelmed him. He kept to himself, and the most he ever saw of his neighbors were brief glimpses before they disappeared behind the cracks in their doors. 

There was only one neighbor that he had directly interacted with before. 

Suna Rintarou stood at the collection of mailboxes arranged along the walls that led up to the staircase and the elevator. He had a bundle of envelopes clasped in his left hand, but he paid them no mind as he regarded Osamu with his usual impassive look. He was dressed in his usual attire: a windbreaker (yellow this time) paired with black sweatpants. He looked as though he was advertising sportswear, though Osamu couldn’t imagine Suna devoting any time to strenuous exercise.

The first time he had met Suna had been the third month he’d lived in Osaka. He’d come home one evening after an exhausting shift to find someone lounging across the stairs that stood in front of the door to their apartment complex. Suna had leapt up at his approach, saying, “Thank fuck you’re here.”

Perplexed, Osamu had tried to place his face and recall how they might have met before. He wasn’t great with names. But before he could say something, Suna had continued, “I locked myself out of the building. I’ve been waiting for someone to come and let me in. I forgot my phone, so I couldn’t even _call_ anyone.”

“Uh—you sound like a burglar. I feel like you’re usin’ me.”

Suna had cackled. “Promise I’m not. I live right above you. You live in 211, right? I’m in 311.”

Osamu had merely blinked. He _did_ live in 211, but there was no reason for this complete stranger to know that. But he had been tired, and Suna had been blocking his way, so he’d merely mumbled, “You better be tellin’ the truth ‘cause I’m too tired to deal with this shit.” 

He had unlocked the front door, he had held it open long enough for Suna to follow him in, and he had stared in shock as Suna raced up the stairs, calling out, “Thanks, Osamu!” as if they were the best of friends. They hadn’t even _introduced_ themselves to each other at that point. Osamu had never seen him before then.

To this day, Osamu had no idea how Suna had known who he was, but he hadn’t questioned it. Suna was the one person he saw the most of in their building, and even then, he hardly knew anything about him. The brief tidbits he knew came from quick conversations and the echoes of footsteps from the ceiling. 

“Yeah,” Osamu said in response to the question that had been left unanswered too long. He straightened and stalked over to his own mailbox, fishing his set of keys out of his back pocket. “I’m fine. How are ya?”

“Fine.” Suna turned back to his mail, rifling through the envelopes in case one held any particular interest. “How about you?”

“Could be better,” Osamu answered, a bit too honestly. On cue, his phone vibrated in his front pocket, and he pulled it out and pushed it between his shoulder and his cheek once he’d accepted the call. “Hello?”

“Samu!” 

Osamu let out an audible growl. “I just saw you a few hours ago, and you’re callin’ me? Will I ever know peace?”

“Nope,” Atsumu said cheerfully. The upbeat exterior was almost enough for Osamu to miss the underlying irritation coating each of his words. He knew what this call was about. It was Atsumu’s chance to hurl all of his accusations without their mother around to witness it before they saw each other face-to-face tomorrow. If Osamu had known, he wouldn’t have picked up the call. “You’re not busy, anyway. Unless yer hot new boyfriend is waitin’ for ya—which he’s _not_! ‘Cause he doesn’t exist.”

Atsumu knew just how to get all of his punches in. It was even more infuriating this time around because Osamu knew he had no defense. The lie had felt false from the moment it left his mouth, and even if his mother didn’t pick up on the insincerity, Atsumu would never let it slide. 

“I’m hangin’ up,” Osamu said. He picked out the key to his mailbox and pushed it into the lock, turning it until the door gave. “Tell Sakusa-kun to have fun with his dirty rag.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Osamu sighed. He really didn’t need this right now. A pile of envelopes sat inside his mailbox, demanding his attention, and Osamu drew them out. “I’m sayin’ I’m tired. Can you leave me alone?”

“Not until you admit you’re lyin’!” Atsumu said in a sing-song voice. Now that he had something to hold over Osamu, Osamu would never get to live it down. “Just say that yer boyfriend doesn’t exist, and I’ll let it go! I don’t know why it bothers ya so much. Just admit that I’m in a serious relationship ‘cause I’m the more handsome, more charming twin.”

“You are about as handsome as a slug,” Osamu said, rifling through the envelopes, “and about as charming as a rock.”

From behind him, Suna snickered. Osamu had forgotten he was still there. Again. Although it seemed like Suna was taking longer than usual to collect his mail. 

“Hey!” Atsumu cried out. “We have the exact same face.”

“Sure. I just wear it better.”

“At least I’ve found someone willin’ to put up with my face. What’s gonna happen when Papa’s birthday weekend comes around, and you show up alone? Mama’s gonna be real upset when she finds out you lied to her.”

“I didn’t lie,” Osamu lied—yet again. Most of his mail was junk mail, but he gathered it all regardless. 

Behind him, Suna locked the door to his mailbox and started up the steps. He lived on the third floor, the apartment directly above Osamu’s. It didn’t make sense to call the elevator down for a measly three floors, though after the day Osamu had, he was tempted to do so. Osamu finished locking up his mailbox and began climbing the stairs, a few paces behind Suna, who had slowed down to scroll through his text messages. 

“I can’t actually believe you’re keepin’ this up,” Atsumu said. There was a rustle on the other end before the distinctive crackle of plastic as Atsumu opened up a bag of chips. The crunching between his teeth became obnoxious as he spoke with his mouth full, and Osamu winced at the sound of Atsumu’s lips smacking together. “Isn’t it better to admit that you messed up now? The longer this goes on, the worse it gets.”

“You’re the one that never mentioned yer own secret boyfriend,” Osamu replied, the closest to an admission he was willing to give. “We see each other two or three times a week, and you never said anythin’.”

Atsumu fell silent for the first time since the call had connected. Even the crackle of plastic had lessened. “I really was just seein’ if it was gonna work,” he said. “I didn’t want to rush anythin’.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care if yer relationship is meant to be long-term. You coulda said somethin’. Now everyone’s on my ass.” If Osamu was being honest, a small part of him hadn’t been upset at Atsumu peeling ahead. He’d been upset over the fact that Atsumu had abandoned him to the bubble of pressure without a warning. “Thanks for that.”

As they reached the second floor, Osamu started in the direction of his apartment. He expected Suna to continue his climb to the next floor, but Suna came to a full stop. His gaze was fixed on his phone, but Osamu had the feeling that Suna was watching _him_. Maybe he wanted to speak with Osamu. 

“One sec,” Osamu said into his phone. He pulled the phone away from his shoulder and squinted in Suna’s direction. Suna was motionless, looking downward, his thumbs twitching from where they hovered above the screen of his phone. “Suna, are you okay?”

Suna glanced up. Then, to Osamu’s complete surprise, he strode over, the fabric of his windbreaker crinkling with each step. He didn’t stop until he stood directly in front of Osamu, a foot separating them. At this distance, Osamu was reminded of their difference in height, Suna towering over him by a few centimeters. 

His lip quirked up in a smile that looked—mischievous. “I’m fine, Osamu,” he said. In the next instant, he leaned forward, his mouth right beside Osamu’s cell phone, and it had to be deliberate. “I’ve missed you. Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

The flirtatious undertone was undeniable, and even though Osamu had noted the calculated movement, the question still made him flush. He almost missed Atsumu’s loud outcry of _“Huh?”_ over the line. 

Osamu brought the phone back to his ear, his face warm for reasons beyond his control. Suna seemed to take deep satisfaction in the way Osamu stammered, “Tsumu, I gotta go,” before hanging up, ignoring Atsumu’s protests.

Suna turned on the spot and headed back toward the staircase before Osamu could even say a word. It wasn’t like he could. Any coherent thought vanished from his mind as quickly as it came, and any possible sentence dried off his tongue as he watched Suna saunter away with a casualness that left Osamu reeling. As if he hadn’t deliberately eavesdropped on their conversation and chosen to goad Atsumu further. 

“You’re welcome,” Suna said in a sing-song voice, his hand lifting in a brief wave, before he disappeared up the next set of stairs. 

Osamu brought his phone close to his chest. What the _fuck_ was _that_?

* * *

Saturday was his one reprieve in an otherwise chaotic week. After the mess Osamu had created yesterday, he needed a day to recover and figure out what to do next. In an unlikely turn of events, Atsumu had been called into work on a coaching emergency—which likely entailed reviewing more footage of their opponents for tomorrow’s match—and left Osamu to drop off their mother at the train station alone. 

This was a blessing in disguise. His mother didn’t pry any further, and the two had kept up with casual small talk until they reached their stop. They said their goodbyes with the promise of seeing each other soon, and Osamu relaxed in the comfort of a silent car as he drove back into the busy hub. If Atsumu had been there, Osamu wouldn’t have had a moment of peace. The ride would’ve been crammed with accusations and pestering for more information, especially concerning the abrupt end to their phone call yesterday, and Osamu didn’t even know where to begin explaining _that._

As the sun flooded through the windows of his car, Osamu followed the path to one of his frequent stops during the week. The Shinzen Café was a quaint shop that boasted of a wide selection of baked goods and bento boxes, and their coffee was to die for. When it came down to the more hectic days, Osamu could keep himself going so long as he had the caffeine to get him through it. While he usually took his orders to go, this time, he had texted Ginjima and convinced him to meet him for breakfast.

After Osamu parked his car, he let himself into the tiny café. An array of tables and chairs decorated the entire space, each furniture piece matching the pink and mint green theme of the establishment, and soft indie music poured out of the overhead speakers. Several employees bustled behind the counter, working to fulfill all the orders for everyone waiting on the long queue. 

Osamu was about to join the end of the line when he caught sight of Ginjima waving at him from one of the two-person tables positioned by the wide window. As Osamu strode over, the sunlight caught on Ginjima’s face, and Osamu offered him a slight smile as he slid into the seat opposite him.

“Mornin’, Gin,” Osamu said. 

“Mornin’,” Ginjima replied. In front of him, he had his own cup of coffee, sweetened to Gin’s exact tastes, along with a plate of several slices of banana bread. Ginjima pushed another cup of coffee over towards Osamu. The two had known each other so long that Ginjima had Osamu’s order memorized: a flat white. “Here ya go.”

Osamu’s smile pulled even wider. “Thanks, Gin,” he said, taking the offered glass. He brought it up to his lips and took a small sip, though it had long since cooled enough for his liking. “Mmm. That’s perfect.”

“You’re welcome,” Ginjima said. He pushed the plate closer to Osamu too, a silent offering. “How are ya? You seemed a little stressed out yesterday.”

Osamu picked one slice from the pile and started tearing it into smaller pieces. His brows furrowed. “So you noticed, huh?”

“Everyone noticed, Osamu. No one said anythin’ ‘cause you’re the boss, but it was kinda obvious that you were a bit peeved after yer conversation with yer mother and Atsumu.”

Brilliant. The last thing he wanted was for his staff to think that his emotions overruled his ability to run his business. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Ginjima waved him off with a flap of his hand. “I was just wonderin’ what got under yer skin. Was it somethin’ Atsumu said?”

Osamu popped one piece into his mouth. The flavor hit his tongue in an instant, soft banana mixed in with breadcrumbs. “That’s delicious,” he said, pointing at the plate. He swallowed before continuing, “Yes and no. It wasn’t all his fault, I guess.”

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard those words leave yer mouth.”

“Shut up. Anyway, it was kind of a mixture of a lot of things.” Osamu heaved a sigh before picking up another piece of banana bread between his fingertips. “Mama told us we should invite anyone we’re seein’ for Papa’s birthday weekend. Turns out Atsumu actually has someone to bring.”

“Uh oh.” Ginjima’s mouth flattened. He took a second to take another sip of his coffee, the foam lingering on his upper lip as he pulled back. “So—what? Yer mother said somethin’ condescending about you?”

“No!” Osamu frowned. He took another bite. This banana bread was delicious. He almost wanted to go up to the counter and beg for the recipe to see if he could replicate it at home. “She would never. But obviously, it’s no fun knowin’ that Atsumu is beating me. If he gets married or some shit before I do, I’ll never live it down.”

“Okay.” Ginjima wiped his mouth off with a napkin. “So Atsumu’s seein’ someone. That’s a shock.”

“I know. Atsumu described the guy briefly, and I can’t imagine someone like that stickin’ around Tsumu for that long.”

“What do you mean?”

“He sounds quite particular. You know how Tsumu is. He never does the laundry until he has absolutely nothing left to wear. He only does the dishes after Mama has screamed at him to do it ten times. He forgets to take out the trash, even when Papa has ordered him to.”

Ginjima pondered that for a moment. “Yeah,” he agreed. “But Atsumu’s particular about certain things.” He tilted his head. “Like his sets or how he wants his team to play. He does suck at doing mundane tasks, but when it comes to what he actually enjoys, he’s specific about what he wants. I dunno.”

A silence elapsed over them as Osamu brought his glass up for another few mouthfuls. Ginjima had a point there. When it came to volleyball, Atsumu had a fixed way of doing things. He never strayed from his personal preferences, even if he was tired or stressed. 

“You might be right,” Osamu mumbled. His glass hit the table with a distinctive thud, and he picked out another chunk of banana bread. “That’s not even the worst of it.”

Ginjima’s eyebrows lifted. “Then what is the worst of it?”

“You don’t even wanna know.”

“Just tell me.” Ginjima leaned closer. “You’re obviously messed up about this.”

Osamu’s eyelids fluttered shut as he summoned the patience needed to explain his own idiocy. “I might’ve…” He paused. “I might’ve told them I was seein’ someone too.”

A few beats passed before Ginjima slammed his hands against the surface of the table, sloshing the contents of both of their glasses, and the plates trembled before stilling completely. “ _What_?” he squawked. 

“I know.”

“Osamu, you haven’t been out on a date in over a _month_. I tried settin’ ya up with Saki-chan, remember? You went out twice before callin’ it quits!” Ginjima lowered his voice. “To be honest, she really did like you.”

“I _know_ ,” Osamu repeated. Anything Ginjima said only added to the foolishness of his own lie. “I know it was a stupid thing to say, but I don’t know what to do now. I can’t just say that I was _lyin’._ ”

“Why not?” Ginjima demanded. He picked up his glass again and took an unsteady sip of his drink. “You did lie, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” Osamu admitted. “But I can’t just tell them that. Tsumu already suspects that I made it all up. And I don’t wanna tell Mama that I lied to her face. That would be…humiliating.”

Ginjima accepted that explanation with a shrug. “But you don’t have anyone,” he said, always the voice of reason. There were many moments back in high school where Ginjima’s passion had gotten him into more trouble than he could count—particularly with Kita—but over the years, that passion had softened. Ginjima no longer forced his way forward without a plan. He took time to consider things. Which was all well and good—until he forced his logic onto Osamu. “You don’t even have someone that you could, like, ask to pretend to be yer partner. Otherwise, you could just fake it till you make it, and then pretend to break up with them after yer father’s birthday passes.”

It was like a lightbulb appeared over Osamu’s head. Something about Ginjima’s words coated in cool logic made something click, and suddenly, even the tangled web he’d found himself in seemed easier to undo. “Gin,” Osamu said, slapping a palm onto the table. This time, coffee did spill out over the edges of the glass, and Ginjima lifted his own up to keep the mess from worsening. “You’re a genius.”

“Huh?” Ginjima grabbed a few napkins to mop up the tiny droplets that fell onto the surface of the table. “What did I do?”

“You’re a genius,” Osamu repeated. “I could just find someone who’d agree to pretend to date me, and then break up with them after. It’s genius. I wouldn’t be a liar.”

“Technically, you still did lie.”

“Hush, Gin.” Osamu went over the logistics in his head. All he had to do was find someone willing to keep up the charade until after his father’s birthday. It had to be someone immune to Atsumu’s taunts. Someone unbothered enough to withstand a whole weekend in the Miya household. It would require a lot of guts, perseverance, and a whole lot of patience. “So, Gin—”

“I’m not fake datin’ you,” Gin said before Osamu could finish the question. The spillage had been wiped away, and he arranged the wet napkins into a pile at the end of their table. “I’m a shitty liar, and I’ve known you and Atsumu for too long to be able to pretend like that.”

Osamu’s lower lip jutted out. Although he knew Ginjima was right, he would have been an easy option. Ginjima had been over plenty of times, he knew a lot of Osamu’s weird traits and quirks, and he didn’t have to explain the situation. But—it would be weird to pretend to date Ginjima. Even the idea of kissing Ginjima made his stomach turn. 

“Fair point,” Osamu said. “Who could I ask?”

“I dunno. You’re handsome enough. Half of our customers come in to stare at yer shoulders. Pick anyone.”

“It can’t just be _anyone_. It has to be believable.”

Ginjima shrugged. “That’s on you.” He brought his glass up to his mouth again and drained the remnants of his coffee before setting it back onto the table with a thud. “You don’t have long to figure it out, though. And you need someone who’s a good actor. If you’re not convincing, Atsumu will call ya out on it.”

Osamu braced his elbow on the table and supported the weight of his head with his fist. Again, Ginjima kept making points that made this seem all the more impossible. But if he couldn’t pull this off, then he’d have to admit to his wrongdoings, and the thought of telling his parents that he’d lied out of pure spite made him queasy. 

“Do you have anyone in mind?” Ginjima asked. 

“No,” Osamu admitted, his lips pulling into a frown. Any acquaintances or friends he had from high school were also friends with Atsumu. That made the whole façade harder to pull off. He could ask one of his previous blind dates, but even considering it made him uncomfortable. There was his staff from the restaurant, but the uneven power dynamic was enough to make him shut that down immediately. Who else? Osamu didn’t see anyone else. “I dunno. I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

His eyes crinkled. “Just a bit. Don’t worry yet. You’re catering the Black Jackals game tomorrow, right?”

Osamu blinked. He hadn’t forgotten, but the whirlwind of yesterday had caused the event to slip through his immediate thoughts. That meant he was seeing Atsumu tomorrow. And there was no escaping him. He couldn’t wear a disguise and blend in with the crowd. The enormous Onigiri Miya logo on the stand was hard to miss. “Yeah.”

“Nice.” Ginjima nodded. “Don’t let Atsumu bother ya too much, alright?”

But Ginjima of all people knew that that was easier said than done.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this chapter! let me know what you thought!


	3. Chapter 3

The Onigiri Miya stand was organized and set up for the onslaught of fans that would swarm into the gymnasium two hours ahead of the scheduled start of the match. A large selection of onigiri remained on display behind the glass, and Osamu pressed his cap further into his head as he watched the minutes on the clock tick down. There was an underlying current prickling the air, like the crackle of electricity, as staff members and security hurried to prepare the venue before everyone filed inside. Osamu was one of the rare few allowed in before the main event, and he’d grown to enjoy the spare hours when the gymnasium was his and his alone. 

Atsumu was nowhere to be seen. He wouldn’t be around for a while. He’d be going over last minute game plans with his team until the first whistle. 

So Osamu wandered around, whistling between his teeth, giving polite responses whenever someone addressed him as Coach Miya. At nine, he returned back to his spot behind the stand as the main doors swung open, a flood of fans flowing through. His free time was consumed in an instant as he rushed to take orders and serve as many people as possible before the game started. Once it did, the crowd would decrease in size while most went to grab their seats, but until then, his attention was on the line in front of him, growing with each passing moment. 

The bubble of noise strengthened the closer it got to the game, snippets of conversation reaching his ears, but he ignored them in favor of addressing the customers in front of him. Every once in a while, a reporter would hurry past, do a double take, then continue on once they realized that Miya Atsumu would not be serving onigiri minutes before the start of a match. The gymnasium became a sea of black and gold, the distinct colors of the MSBY Black Jackals, and every so often, there was a flash of green from the away fans. 

Sure enough, as the warmups began, the line became a scattering of a few people. Osamu cast a brief look over at the court, trying to catch a glimpse of Atsumu, before returning his attention to the pair in front of him.

“What can I getcha?” he asked.

The taller of the two pushed his glasses further up his nose before telling Osamu his order. His dark hair swept along his head in small waves, divided along the middle, and his long coat gave him the look of an overworked librarian. His friend didn’t acknowledge Osamu once, his attention focused on the handheld console game clasped between his hands. Every once in a while, he’d reach up to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes, and it took Osamu a second to realize the ends were light blonde. 

As Osamu worked to prepare their order, the two fell back into their easy conversation that had stopped once they’d reached the front of the line.

“Do you see him?” the shorter of the two asked, his gaze never straying from the screen of his game. 

“No,” the other replied. He held a hand over his eyes to protect from the glare of the overhead lights and looked out at the crowd. Osamu knew firsthand that that never worked. If anything, it only made your eyes burn. “He said he’s here already. We know he’s somewhere in the crowd of photographers.”

“Here ya go.” Osamu handed over their order in a neat takeout bag, and the taller one of the pair reached out to take it from him. “Enjoy the match.”

“Thanks, Myaa-sam,” he said. He nudged his friend with an elbow. “Come on, Kenma. Let’s find our seats.”

The pair wandered off towards the stands, and Osamu went about fulfilling his last set of orders as the announcer reeled off the names of the players. Sure enough, the line came to an abrupt stop, and Osamu peeled off his cap long enough to wipe the sweat off his forehead and run a hand through his messy hair. 

Now that everyone was seated, the view of the court was clear, and Osamu spotted Atsumu hovering near the bench while the starting lineup was announced. Although his expression was impassive, Osamu knew better than anyone that his brother was fighting off the bundle of nerves that came with every match. It was evident in the twitch of his fingers and the furrow between his eyebrows. 

Osamu pushed his cap back onto his head in case anyone swept by and noticed. As the players bowed to thank each other for the match, Osamu found himself waiting with anticipation, too. He might not have been waiting in the stands, and he might’ve chosen a life in the food industry over a career in volleyball, but he still cherished this. He cherished the moments in which everyone’s breaths caught in their throats before the first whistle, and he cherished the series of plays that would follow, each player striving to hit their fullest potential and make their marks on this match.

Osamu looked over at Atsumu. His feet were planted against the floor, and his hands gripped the underside of the bench. Yet his expression spoke of an easy calmness. He had faith in his team—just as he did back in high school. 

Yes. He and Atsumu’s love of the game was very different, but his was no less intense. Because even now, as the first player stepped up to serve, Osamu held his breath along with the rest of the audience.

* * *

The match ended up in a victory for the MSBY Black Jackals, though it was a rough battle until the end. When the final whistle blew, the entire gymnasium erupted in a chorus of cheers, and the sound became deafening. The fans streamed out of the stands, some hurrying to be the first to leave to avoid the inevitable traffic jam, some climbing down the steps in the hopes of being able to meet some of their favorite players. 

The Onigiri Miya booth was all packed. By the third set, Osamu had torn his attention away from the game long enough to collect all the leftover food and clean up the mess that had been left in his wake. When the match was over, Osamu was free to do as he pleased. He ripped his cap off his head and stuck it into the back pocket of his jeans. Most of the crowd moved in the opposite direction, but Osamu headed closer to the court. 

Some of the players were huddled in small groups talking with each other. Others stood by the fans waiting for an autograph or a selfie. A few were still in the middle of their cooldowns, stretching out their limbs before they woke up with sore muscles. Atsumu was still hovering near the bench, stuck in a conversation with the coach of the opposing team. 

That was fine. Osamu could speak to him later. It wasn’t like he particularly wanted to speak to Atsumu, anyway. One day was not long enough for Atsumu to forget. 

Osamu continued his climb down the steps, bypassing the two customers that had stopped by his stand before the match, and he kept walking past the collection of photographers that were in the middle of packing up their equipment. Some journalists still lingered in the hopes that they could coax a player into a post-match interview. Most were distinguished by the large ‘PRESS’ written across their shirts.

“Osamu?”

Osamu came to a stop, his head whipping around at the mention of his name. It was unusual for him to be called by anything other than Miya while he attended these matches. Yet the voice didn’t belong to Atsumu. 

As his gaze swept along the long line of photographers, one in particular caught his eye. Upon second glance, Osamu couldn’t fathom how he’d missed him. Even with a shirt that marked him as ‘PRESS,’ the sight of Suna Rintarou was unmistakable. Next to him, his pouch containing a heavy-duty camera had been sealed, and he straightened to confirm that it was really Osamu. 

“Suna,” Osamu said, changing his course towards Suna. A few photographers nearby shot him curious looks, but averted their eyes within seconds, too engrossed in the task of clearing out. “Hey. What are you doin’ here?”

“My job.” Suna tugged on the lanyard looped around his neck, and Osamu followed it downwards until he reached the ID card hanging at the bottom, complete with a professional photograph of Suna looking bored and his full name printed along the plastic. “I never told you? I’m a sports photographer.”

Osamu’s head snapped up. Suna hadn’t ever told him that. He had no idea Suna had any interest in volleyball at all. Although, now that he thought about it, it made sense that Suna always appeared in athletic wear. He was neck deep into the sports industry—just like Atsumu. If Suna was covering this match, then there was no way he’d missed the identical figure coaching one of the teams. 

“No,” Osamu said. “I didn’t know that. That’s really cool. So, uh, what does that entail?”

“I work for a sports magazine.” Suna kicked the logo on the side of his pouch that Osamu had missed up until that moment. “EJP Raijin. I go to almost all of the volleyball events around here. I even cover high school and middle school tournaments sometimes.”

“Oh. I didn’t even know you were into volleyball.”

The corner of Suna’s lip twitched. “I played back in Aichi during high school. But, uh, my team wasn’t really that great. I was probably the star player, which wasn’t saying much. I didn’t really have the resources or the connections to go pro, but volleyball is, like, the only thing I’ve ever really loved. So. Here I am.”

“Here you are,” Osamu echoed, without meaning to. He cleared his throat. “So, uh, what was yer position?”

“Middle blocker.” Osamu opened his mouth to mention that he was a wing spiker, but Suna continued before he could. “I know you were a spiker. You were all anyone talked about back in high school. You and your brother.” Suna jerked his head over at the court. “How do you think I knew your name?”

That…made sense. Osamu had never summoned the courage to ask Suna directly, but he should have known. Atsumu had accepted far too many interviews for his name to remain amiss, and Inarizaki High School had made it to Nationals enough that his face would have been recognizable. He’d never put two and two together. It made sense that another high school athlete around the same age would guess who he was. 

“I—” Osamu faltered. “I dunno. I thought that maybe you looked through my mail or somethin’.”

A huff escaped Suna. “I wouldn’t go that far. Well.” His features pinched together as he considered that. “Maybe.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

A light laugh split Suna’s lips. “Sorry.” Though he didn’t sound apologetic in the least. He pointed at the logo printed on Osamu’s shirt. “I noticed your stand on my way in. How were sales?”

It had been a productive match. As usual, it was worth it to spend an extra morning out of his weekends catering to the ravenous fans of Division Two volleyball. “Good,” he said with a shrug. “I can’t complain. Business is good.” He paused, dragging one foot along the floor in a wide circle. “Have you ever had it? My food, I mean?”

Suna shook his head. “No. Unfortunately. Everyone else raves about it, but I never get the chance to sneak by. It takes me too long to set up, and the stand is always closed by the end of matches.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No worries.”

A lull in the conversation overcame them, and Osamu debated whether it was the right time to bring up what had been on his mind since the phone call last night. This entire exchange felt like a build-up to that dreaded question. If he hadn’t seen Suna today, Osamu might have forced himself to forget what had happened entirely. But now that he was here, it was like the choice had been made for him. 

“Uh, about last night—” Osamu started. He stopped when he noticed his mirror image walking in their direction. Somehow, even amongst the sea of photographers, Atsumu had found him. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Suna asked, following the line of Osamu’s gaze. “Oh.”

There was no chance to explain or prepare Suna for the whirlwind that was Osamu’s twin brother. It took a matter of seconds for Atsumu to reach them, though his attention was entirely on Osamu, his usual cheeky grin in the aftermath of a victory in place. “Hiya, Samu,” he greeted. He either hadn’t noticed Suna or he’d chosen to ignore Suna in favor of harassing Osamu. Either seemed like a viable option at the moment. “How was the stand?”

“Fine,” Osamu answered quickly, knowing that this wasn’t the reason Atsumu came over. “Nice win.”

Atsumu ducked his head. Every victory was special to him, even if he insisted on always looking forward. “Thanks. How was droppin’ Mama off at the train?”

His shoulders tensed. Atsumu took his time, looking very much like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. Every question was a taunt, even if they appeared innocent enough. Osamu hated this. He hated it more because he knew he couldn’t defend himself. Atsumu had the upper hand here, and all Osamu could do was wait it out.

“It was fine,” Osamu said, his shoulders all bunched up. “Why?”

“Nothin’,” Atsumu said, in that irritating sing-song voice of his that hadn’t become more bearable since Osamu heard it last. “I just—”

“Tsumu,” Osamu interrupted in a desperate attempt to change the tide of the conversation. He gestured over at Suna, who’d merely been looking between the two brothers. “This is Suna Rintarou.” 

“Oh.” Atsumu’s brows scrunched together as Suna stepped forward with an outstretched hand. Atsumu clasped it with a steady grip before letting his arm fall back to his side. “Nice to meetcha, Sunarin. Samu, I didn’t know you hung out with the press. Are you tryna sell all of my secrets?”

“No.” Suna raised one eyebrow. “Just your embarrassing baby photos.”

The absurdity of the statement almost made Osamu bark out a laugh. Atsumu’s face changed as Suna’s words set in, reddening first with embarrassment before transforming into anger. “ _Samu_!”

“I am not,” Osamu said, sounding a little breathless from the effort of containing his giggles. “I don’t have any secrets to sell him. And although it would be hilarious to find yer sobbin’ face on the cover of EJP Raijin, I doubt that’s what the magazine is lookin’ for.”

Atsumu’s lip twitched. “Fine.” He whipped a finger between them. “How do the two of you know each other?”

“Suna lives above me. We’re in the same apartment complex.”

“Oh.” His eyes narrowed. And Osamu remembered far too late that Suna’s level voice was too distinctive not to recognize. “Wait. Didn’t I—”

Suna bent over to tighten the laces on his sneakers before standing up straight again. When he did, all he said was, “Yeah. I’m Osamu’s boyfriend,” with a deadpan expression.

If it had been anyone else, the sentence would have sounded like a lie. But out of Suna’s mouth, it became gospel truth. His face remained neutral as ever, nothing giving him away, and if Osamu hadn’t felt as though he’d been slammed into by a truck speeding down the highway, he might have been more impressed.

As it was, the casual remark made him choke on his own spit. 

“ _Huh_?” Atsumu said, not unlike the way he had yesterday. “You—” He pointed between them again, and Osamu struggled to pull himself together in order to make Suna’s lie more believable. “You two—”

Suna blinked. “He hasn’t told you?” He bent down to pull his pouch with his camera up onto his shoulder. “I guess that makes sense. I’m quite a private person. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“But—but Osamu doesn’t date!”

“Is that so?” Suna cast a glance over at Osamu. “I mean, we’ve only just started seeing each other. We’ll see how it goes.” He returned his attention to Atsumu. “It is nice to finally meet you. Osamu’s told me a lot about you.”

Atsumu couldn’t even form a response. All that came out of his mouth were incoherent noises. Osamu wasn’t sure what was more unbelievable: the fact that Suna had publicly called himself Osamu’s boyfriend or the fact that Osamu had supposedly managed to bag someone as attractive as Suna. 

“I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Suna fished his phone out of his front pocket to check the time. “I’m meant to clear out of here.” He dropped his phone back into his pocket and adjusted his pouch. “It really was nice to finally meet you, Atsumu.” 

Ignoring the gobsmacked look on Atsumu’s face, Suna slid past. He slowed down beside Osamu. Osamu was sure he didn’t look much better than Atsumu, his lips parted as his brain tried to understand what Suna was doing. He supposed he should have realized with yesterday’s incident that Suna enjoyed inciting chaos, but he hadn’t expected to be an accomplice to it twice in one weekend. 

“I’ll see you later, Osamu,” Suna said. Osamu couldn’t figure out if it was an invitation or a promise, but Suna didn’t elaborate before passing on. 

By now, most of the photographers had cleared out, and the gymnasium was nearly vacant. Even the players had retreated to the locker rooms, but somehow, as Osamu looked back at Atsumu, his heart pounded more than it had the entire match. 

* * *

Later that evening, Osamu had yet to process what had happened during the match. It was nearly one in the morning, and he lied down in his bed, staring at the ceiling with his eyes peeled wide open. He should have tried getting some sleep. Tomorrow was Monday, which meant it was back to another hectic week at Onigiri Miya, but his brain refused to shut off. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could think about was the memory of Suna calling himself Osamu’s boyfriend with the straightest fucking face Osamu had ever seen.

Suna was a fantastic actor. Atsumu hadn’t even suspected he had lied, even if the vision of Osamu in a committed relationship was far-fetched to begin with. 

His movements had been robotic after the match. He had left Atsumu reeling to bring the leftovers back to Onigiri Miya, then returned to his apartment to lounge around on the couch while coming to terms that Suna had unwittingly progressed a lie that Osamu had started. The web was tangling itself more, and Osamu needed to talk about it. He debated texting Ginjima, but he figured Gin deserved at least one day off from Osamu’s antics. That left him with no other choice but to stare at the ceiling lifelessly. 

The silence of nighttime was deafening. Outside, a few cars rolled along the street, but other than the occasional crunch of tires, there was nothing to distract Osamu from his train of thoughts. 

Until the echo of footsteps above interrupted. 

Osamu squinted at the ceiling. Suna was still _awake_? At this hour?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Osamu scrambled out of bed, put on a pair of slippers, yanked a sweatshirt over his head, and exited his apartment. With his keys in hand, he made the climb up to the next level, his steps hushed against the stairwell to keep from disturbing his neighbors. Although he’d never been to the third floor, his legs brought him to Suna’s apartment on instinct. It was exactly where his apartment was on the second floor. As the 311 flashed in front of him, Osamu brought his fist to the door and rapped against it a few times with his knuckles. 

For a moment, there was only silence, and Osamu worried that he had imagined the set of footsteps wandering above his apartment. But then there was the distinct sound of someone approaching the door, and Osamu took a step back as it swung open.

Suna stood on the other side. His hair was more ruffled than usual, and his eyes were lined with red, as if he’d strained them from staring too hard at something. He had ditched the windbreaker and sweatpants for something even more comfortable: a pair of flannel pajama pants, a ratty sweatshirt, and a pair of fox-shaped slippers. Osamu’s focus was drawn to the slippers first, their heads far too large to be anything but comical.

“Nice slippers,” he said by way of greeting.

“Nice bedhead,” Suna replied. Osamu’s hands reflexively went to smoothen out the disheveled tufts of hair. Meanwhile, Suna took a step back and gestured for Osamu to enter. “Come in.”

This was the first time Osamu had been in Suna’s apartment. Well—it was his first time being in anyone’s apartment in the building other than his own. The layout was identical, from the spaced-out living room to the cramped kitchen stuck in the far corner, and Osamu spotted a hall in the back that led to the bathroom and bedroom. 

It wasn’t much different from his except for the fact that Osamu’s kitchen was cluttered with supplies and recipes dotting the counters. Instead, Suna had large volleyball posters spread along the walls, and as Osamu took a few steps forward, he noticed a few small photographs that had to be taken by Suna. Some were related to volleyball, but there were a few that were not: many were taken of a young woman that was clearly related to Suna, and the rest were of strangers that Osamu didn’t recognize. Suna’s friends, perhaps.

There was a lone laptop resting on the surface of the table in the middle of the room, the screen turned on and an empty bowl of ramen placed beside it. 

“What are you still doin’ awake?” Osamu asked. He waited awkwardly for Suna to close the door behind him. He didn’t want to invade Suna’s space, not that Suna looked like the kind of person who cared much about things like that. “It’s one in the morning.”

“I could ask you the same question.” Suna slipped past and gestured at the table. “You can take a seat. Give me a second.” He picked up the dirty dish and disappeared into the kitchen to drop it into the sink.

Meanwhile, Osamu took another few steps into the apartment, his gaze sweeping across the space. There were several expensive cameras positioned around the room, many of which had the EJP Raijin logo printed on their pouches. It was obvious that Suna was passionate about his work, which made Osamu feel a little dumb for not figuring out his career sooner. He followed Suna’s instructions and took a seat at the table opposite of the laptop. 

Suna returned a few seconds later and settled down in front of the laptop. Instead of continuing what he was in the middle of, he used a finger to close it. 

“Am I interruptin’?” Osamu asked. “I can leave.”

“No, you’re good,” Suna said. He slid the laptop over to the end of the table so that he could brace his forearms against the edge. “I just finished sending the last of the photographs to my department. That’s why I’m awake so late.”

“Oh.” That made sense. Osamu had never thought about it much before, but matches had to be reported on in a timely manner. News became outdated if too many days passed between the time of the event and the publication of the article or update scheduled to come out. It made sense that Suna had spent the rest of his day meeting a tight deadline. “That’s good to hear.”

Suna nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Taking them is easy. It’s editing them afterwards that takes so long.”

Osamu had never been more grateful for the schedule that Onigiri Miya provided. Maybe he worked long hours, but at least he knew that when he came home, he was done for the day. He never had to rush to complete tasks overtime. He worked in the kitchen until his shift was done—and that was that. 

“So,” Suna continued, “why are you awake? Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“Yes.” When he didn’t elaborate, Suna’s stare became more expectant. There was something about his gaze that made Osamu uneasy. His eyes were so piercing and unwavering that it made Osamu feel as though he were being inspected under a microscope. “I just can’t sleep.”

“Mmm.”

“I—” Osamu’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Why didja do what you did today? And Friday?”

Suna lifted one eyebrow, and the simple gesture was enough to make Osamu wriggle in place. “I don’t know. Why don’t you explain the whole story to me first?”

“It’s kinda late.”

“Yeah. Didn’t stop you from coming up here, though.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Then you better start.”

“Fine.” Osamu scowled. He had no business explaining the mess he’d gotten himself into to a complete stranger, but somehow, he found himself recounting it all anyway. Everything from the conversation with his mother to his breakfast with Ginjima to the accusations thrown his way by Atsumu. Through it all, Suna’s expression remained neutral as always, with the occasional twitch of his eyebrow. Still, when Osamu reached the end of his explanation, he had no idea what to make of Suna’s reaction. Did Suna think he was completely stupid—or did he at least hold some sympathy for Osamu’s plight? “So. There. I’m fucked.”

“Mmhmm,” Suna hummed. He held his cheek up with his palm, his elbow braced against the table. “So you either come clean about your little lie or you find someone willing to play the part until your father’s birthday?”

Osamu looked down at his hands, clasped in front of him. It was easier than meeting Suna’s gaze head-on. “That’s right.”

“Alright,” Suna said. “I’m in.”

Osamu’s head whipped up. “Huh?”

There was a gleam in Suna’s eye, akin to the one that had appeared before he’d deliberately baited Atsumu over the phone. It was the shine of mischief, the one that had managed to surprise Osamu over and over again. “I said I’m in. You need someone to fake date. And I’ve already told your brother that we’re dating. For some reason, he seems to believe it coming from me.”

 _Yes,_ Osamu wanted to scream. _Because why would any reasonable attractive person admit that they’re datin’ me if it weren’t true?_

“Are you sure you actually wanna do this? You don’t have to get caught up in my mess.”

“Exactly,” Suna said. “I could use a little excitement. Your brother is too easy to rile up. He sounds too satisfied at catching you in a lie. It’d be a shame to let him win.”

The logic here didn’t make the most sense, but Osamu was starting to understand that Suna might be the kind of person who sought out chaos wherever he was. If it didn’t exist, he’d create it—as he’d done twice already. Fuck. Suna was going to give Osamu a migraine if they kept crossing paths. Which they would. Considering they were now in a fake relationship. 

“Aren’t you in a relationship?” Osamu tapped his fingers against the table.

“Yeah? With you?”

“No, I mean, aren’t you seein’ anyone else?”

Suna dropped his arm. “No. Why?”

“I dunno.” Osamu turned away to hide the flush that crept along his cheeks. If he had been truthful, he might have admitted that he’d always assumed that Suna had to be involved with someone. Perhaps he wasn’t conventionally attractive, but even from their limited interactions, Osamu knew that he found Suna handsome. “I just thought you were.”

“No,” Suna said. “From now on, I’m all yours.” He paused. “Are you cooking anything for your father’s birthday?”

This time, it was Osamu’s turn to quirk an eyebrow. “I probably will. I’m always in charge of the cake. Why?”

“Perfect. Then I’m definitely in. Free food.”

“You’re a little weird, Suna.”

“That’s another thing.” Suna wagged his finger at Osamu. “If this is going to work, you can’t call me Suna in front of other people. It doesn’t make sense. You’ll have to call me Rintarou.”

“What?” Osamu wasn’t quick enough to hide his face. His cheeks burned at the suggestion. “Why?”

“Couples don’t call each other by their family names. Maybe Atsumu believes us for now, but if you call me Suna, he’ll find it weird.”

No, the thought of calling Suna _Rintarou_ was weird. He pulled a face. “I can’t.”

“I call you Osamu!”

“That’s different.” Osamu waved him off. “Everyone calls me Osamu. When you’re identical twins, it makes sense to distinguish by given names. I can’t call ya… _that_.”

Suna crossed his arms over his chest, the first hint at frustration that Osamu had ever seen from him. “You _have_ to. It’s not that weird. Your brother is already calling me Sunarin.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s Atsumu. He has no filter.”

“Okay.” His shoulders slumped, pushing Suna into his usual slouch. Osamu hadn’t noticed how terrible Suna’s posture was before now. It might have been the result of too many nights hunched over a laptop screen in a rush to submit his work before the tight deadlines. “Then you can at least call me Rin.”

If anything, a nickname seemed more intimate. “R-Rin,” Osamu stammered. 

“That was embarrassing.”

“ _Rin_ ,” Osamu repeated, more assured this time. It still warmed his whole body to say it, but it felt a lot more manageable than saying Suna’s entire name. “Fine.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” Suna sat up straighter as a yawn overtook him. “Shit. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” If Osamu was being honest, being able to talk about this disaster with an outsider lifted an invisible weight off his shoulders. He no longer had to worry about who he could convince to pose as his fake partner. Suna had agreed to it. In fact, he seemed like the perfect person for the job. He didn’t have any qualms with lying, and he accepted the entire predicament easily. “It’s late.”

Nearly an hour had passed since Osamu had made the trek up to Suna’s apartment. It had to be close to two in the morning, and exhaustion was starting to set in. His eyelids drooped more with each minute that passed, and their shared yawns increased in frequency. According to his usual schedule, Osamu had to be at Onigiri Miya in six hours, meaning he had five hours to sleep it off before getting ready for the day that lay ahead of him. 

Although he and Suna had barely scraped the surface of what their fake relationship entailed, it wasn’t the time to go into the details. That could be left for a later date. So long as he had Suna’s verbal agreement, the rest could be figured out another day.

“I should get goin’,” Osamu said, pushing himself to his feet. Suna mirrored his actions. “It’s late, and I’ve gotta get up for work in five hours.”

“Ooh. Tough luck.” Suna led the way to the front door, his feet shuffling against the floor. “I’m sleeping in tomorrow. I deserve it.”

“You do,” Osamu agreed. He couldn’t imagine completing work in the early hours of the morning for his job. No wonder Suna looked so sleepy and tired all of the time. 

Suna pulled the door open for him. “It was nice seeing you, Osamu.”

“You too,” Osamu echoed, because it was the truth. It wasn’t like he and Suna hadn’t gotten along before, but their interactions had been polite and surface-level at best. It was like, by crossing the boundary of what was socially acceptable and knocking at his door at one in the morning, something had shifted. It was almost imperceptible, like a subtle change in the wind’s direction, but he noticed it. He wondered if Suna noticed it too. “We should talk more. About this whole thing. But when we’re more awake.”

“Mmhmm,” Suna said, bobbing his head. “I agree.”

“Thanks.” Osamu stepped out onto the welcome mat outside Suna’s apartment. “For listenin’. And for doin’ this. Ya don’t hafta.”

“I already said I would.” Suna’s head lolled against the doorframe, almost as if his sleepiness prevented him from being able to hold it up on his own anymore. “I don’t mind. It’s not like I have anything else going on.”

Still. It was a strange request for someone to ask and an even stranger request for someone to accept. These past two days, Osamu had learned a lot more about Suna than he had over these last few years. It made him wonder if he could have had a friend in this building all along if he had ever roamed outside his circle of comfort. Because, even with all of his mischief, Osamu could see himself getting along well with Suna Rintarou. 

If this all worked out, he’d be forever in Suna’s debt.

“Good night, Suna,” he said. “Sleep well.”

“Good night, Osamu.”

As Osamu turned to descend down the steps, the door clicked shut behind him, and he returned to his apartment feeling lighter than he had the past couple of days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you thought! your comments mean the world!


	4. Chapter 4

The exhaustion came back in flashes. Osamu caught himself in the middle of a yawn countless times throughout the day, and it was noticeable enough that Ginjima took to swatting him with a spare rag whenever he spotted Osamu doing it again. He couldn’t help it. Although he had dozed off immediately after falling into his bed, he was accustomed to at least getting seven hours of sleep a night. His mind was overworked with stress, and while the conversation with Suna had eased some of his worries, the effects lingered. When he passed by the mirror, there were distinctive bags beneath his eyes, and his hair fell flatter than usual. It didn’t look as though he was returning from a relaxing weekend. It looked as though he’d gone on an intense business trip and been worked to the bone.

“Dude.” Ginjima hit him again with the rag after Osamu attended the last of the customers waiting on line. “What is with you today? You won’t stop yawnin’. How tired are you?”

“Extremely.” Osamu winced while rubbing the small of his back. Ginjima had a nasty swing, and after several attacks in the same exact spot, he was starting to feel the sting. “Can ya stop doin’ that? It looks bad for business for an employee to attack his boss.”

“You’re not my boss.” But Ginjima tossed the rag to the side.

“Then what am I? If I’m not yer boss, I’ll stop payin’ ya.”

“ _Please._ ” Ginjima scoffed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wanna bet?”

Before Ginjima could respond, the bell above the entrance chimed, and Osamu turned around automatically to greet the new customer, his winning smile in place. He faltered when he realized who it was that stepped inside. 

Suna looked cool and collected, as he always did. Today, he wore a half-zip-up maroon hoodie paired with grey sweatpants, and a sturdy strap hung around his neck, leading down to the camera that rested against his front. The lazy morning had done him well. As Suna swept his gaze along the expanse of the restaurant, Osamu could hardly believe that the two of them had stayed up until two in the morning discussing Osamu’s personal mess. He had even seemingly dressed up for the occasion—well, dressed up as much as Suna knew how—and two tiny black hoops hung from his right ear. 

Upon recognizing Osamu, Suna made a beeline for the register. “Hey,” he greeted. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Osamu said. For some reason, he knew he was on the verge of blushing, though he couldn’t fathom why. Maybe it was because their agreement last night became so much more real during the hours of daylight. Or maybe it was because this was Suna’s first time seeing Osamu’s business in person, and like with every customer, Osamu hoped his reaction would be positive. “How are you? How was it sleeping in?”

“I’m great.” Suna reached in his pocket for his wallet. “I’m definitely doing better than you. You look like you’ve killed seven people last night.”

From behind him, Ginjima cackled. 

But Osamu’s attention was entirely on the wallet Suna had in his left hand. “Put that away,” Osamu ordered. “You’re not payin’.”

Suna’s eyes moved from his wallet to Osamu. “Huh?”

“I said, you’re not payin’,” Osamu repeated. Behind him, Ginjima’s stare intensified against the back of Osamu’s head. This would raise questions later on. Ah, well. At least Ginjima was already in the loop. Osamu just had to fill in the rest of the details. “I owe ya. Not the other way around. Tell me what you want.”

“Oh. Okay.” Slowly, Suna tucked his wallet back into the pocket of his sweatshirt. “Salmon, then.”

“Sure.” Osamu jerked his chin at Ginjima, who stopped staring long enough to grab a few onigiri for Suna. “Didja want to take a seat? I’ll bring it over to you in a sec.”

Again, Suna appeared caught off guard. His eyebrows lifted into his hairline, but he managed a nod. “Yeah. Sounds good. Thanks.”

As Ginjima arranged the onigiri on a plate for Suna, it was hard to miss the muttering under his breath. “Who the hell is that? Why the hell don’t you pay for _my_ onigiri?”

“I do, actually,” Osamu said, offended at the accusation. Ginjima and Atsumu had been privy to most of his long cooking sessions over the years. If anything, he’d offered them enough free onigiri for a lifetime. “And that’s Suna. He’s my neighbor.” He paused. Ginjima ducked beneath the counter to grab a few napkins to arrange on Suna’s plate. “And my fake boyfriend.”

At that, Ginjima banged his head against the bottom of the counter, falling backwards onto his ass. The commotion was loud enough that a few people stood up in concern, but Osamu waved them off as he braced his hands beneath Gin’s elbows and hauled him to his feet. 

“Yer _what_?” Ginjima demanded once his footing was steady once more. “Osamu, do _not_ tell me you bribed this poor guy into this scheme of yours.”

“What? You suggested doin’ this!”

“I wasn’t bein’ serious! How was I meant to know there was some guy weird enough to actually agree to this?” Ginjima lowered his voice. “And that’s not the kind of guy you fake date. That’s the kind of guy you beg to take you out on a real one.”

“Well, I—” Osamu’s mouth clamped shut. He had no idea what to respond to _that._ “Whatever.” He held out a hand for Suna’s order. “Gimme.”

“You’re idiots,” Ginjima said as he handed the plate over. “You’re both idiots.”

“Shut up.”

Osamu left his position from behind the counter to find Suna seated at one of the chairs against the window. He already had his laptop propped out in front of him, and his camera had been drawn out of his bag. He was in the middle of flicking through his recent selection of pictures, but he stopped when Osamu’s shadow fell over his table. He shoved his laptop over until there was enough room for the plate to fit.

“Here ya go,” Osamu said, placing it in the empty space. “Hope you like it.”

“I’m sure I will,” Suna said, picking out the first of the batch. He tilted it around in the light, inspecting its perfect shape. Osamu held his breath as Suna raised it to his mouth and took the first bite, and he didn’t release it until his lips quirked upward in an easy smile. “It’s delicious. Wow. Shit, Osamu. My fake boyfriend knows how to cook.”

“Shhh,” Osamu said, even though there was no one that mattered in the vicinity to eavesdrop. “You can’t just say that.”

“Sorry,” Suna said, not sounding apologetic in the least. 

He took another bite, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he relished in the taste. Osamu would be lying if he said this show of appreciation for his food wasn’t doing anything for him. For Osamu, food was a love language, and every prepared and offered meal came as a thank you and a sign of appreciation. Even if he was feeding complete strangers, he stuffed his whole heart and soul into what he made for that very reason. 

“Have one if you want,” Suna said, gesturing towards the plate. “Have you had lunch yet? Or are you sick of onigiri?”

“I’m never sick of onigiri.” Technically, he hadn’t taken his break yet. He motioned to Ginjima over the counter, receiving a middle finger in return, but he slid into the chair across from Suna anyway. He picked out one from the pile and took a few bites. “Thanks.”

“It’s the least I could do. Considering you paid for it.”

“Mmhmm,” Osamu hummed. The mixture of the rice and the salmon erupted against his tongue. Even though he spent every day surrounded by onigiri, he never got tired of it. He could eat the same food every day for years, and he was certain that he’d never get bored of it. “So what are you doin’ here?”

“Well.” Suna picked up one of the napkins Ginjima had given him and wiped off his fingers. “I have some pictures to edit, so I figured I’d come here to work if that’s alright. We still have some things to discuss, anyway.”

“That’s fine.” Many customers remained in the restaurant for a good portion of the day, clearing a table to work or chat with their friends. Even if it wasn’t customary, Osamu could easily set aside a place for Suna to work. It was the least he could do. “Stay as long as you’d like. But, uh, I didn’t think we had to talk about our”—he cleared his throat—“ _arrangement_ for a while.”

Suna raised an eyebrow. “When’s your father’s birthday?”

“In two weeks.”

“Right. We’re discussing it now. I’m not going in blind.”

“Fine, fine.” Osamu finished off the last of his onigiri and reached for another. Now that Suna had given him permission, his sense of restraint had vanished. “What do you wanna discuss?”

“You’re the one who needs a fake boyfriend.” Suna grabbed another onigiri, preemptively sensing Osamu’s greediness to finish off the plate himself. “Shouldn’t you know how this goes?”

“Uh…” While Osamu had a bit of experience with dating—more so in high school than he did as an adult—he’d never convinced someone to _pretend_ to date him. Was there a list of rules they had to follow? It would probably be reasonable to discuss boundaries beforehand. There could be things Suna was uncomfortable with doing. Osamu hoped he would be willing to hold his hand. And there was the fact that Suna might be a good actor, but he still needed a basic foundation of facts on Osamu before proceeding. Otherwise, if Suna told an obvious lie, someone would call them out on it for sure. 

Suna took a large bite. “You’re a dumbass,” he told Osamu as he chewed. “Okay. Let’s start with the basics. The goal is to successfully survive your father’s birthday weekend, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Simple enough. There’s one glaring problem, though.” That was enough to make Osamu’s stomach clench. “We don’t exactly know a lot about each other. I mean, you found out my job for the first time yesterday, and we’ve lived in the same building for years.”

“That—” His first instinct had been to object, but Suna was right. There was a lot they didn’t know about each other, though he was willing to bet Suna knew more about him than vice versa. “Alright. How do we fix that?”

Suna shot him an incredulous look. Its severity was lessened by the fact that Suna’s cheeks were stuffed with rice, but Osamu shrunk beneath it all the same. “By hanging out together,” he said, and the _duh_ was left unspoken. “For the next two weeks, we’ll see a lot more of each other. We’ll tell each other anything that we think is important. Keep it as authentic as possible.”

Osamu nodded. That seemed like a reasonable request. He didn’t know where Suna would fit into his hectic routine, but he’d make it work. Anything to be able to keep this charade up. “Sounds fair.”

Suna finished off the last of his onigiri and reached for his phone. Wordlessly, he tapped the screen a few times before sliding it over to Osamu. It took Osamu a few seconds too long to realize that Suna was waiting for him to punch his contact information in. “Oh.” He set down the onigiri and ran a napkin over his fingertips. “Got it.”

“I’ll text you so you have my number.”

“Gotcha.”

“We should probably make a list of boundaries.”

“Right.” Finally, Osamu grabbed Suna’s phone and put his phone number in. “What were you thinkin’?”

As the phone was pushed back over the table, Suna snatched it and held it up before Osamu could stop him. Within seconds, the distinct sound of the camera shutter reached Osamu’s ears, and he was too late to hold his hands up to hide his face from view. “Perfect,” Suna said, inspecting the picture he’d taken. “That’ll be your contact photo. We should probably take some more. I can make you my background.”

Osamu scowled, though he couldn’t determine whether it was from the suggestion of taking more pictures or that he’d been caught in the middle of making what was likely a terrible face. “You’re a menace,” he said. “Fuckin’ chaos wrecker.”

Suna flashed a smile over the top of his phone. He wasn’t at all deterred by Osamu’s backhanded compliment. Rather, it was clear that he took it as a genuine one.

“Okay.” Suna set his phone aside, returning his attention to the conversation at hand, and he brought his laptop in front of him. With the top propped open, it was harder to make eye contact. Instead, Osamu watched as Suna tapped the keyboard a few times before pulling up a blank document. “I’m going to write this down so that it’s all clear. Is that okay?”

“Fine.” Osamu had no objections. 

Suna clicked the mouse once. “What are you not okay with?”

“Hm?”

“Like, what is your family going to expect? How physically affectionate have you been with your exes?”

Oh. This was not a conversation that was all that comfortable to have with a close friend—much less a virtual stranger. Osamu scratched the nape of his neck as a blush worked up his neck. “Eh,” he said with a shrug. “I’m probably not the most affectionate person. I don’t think they’ll expect more than hand holdin’.”

Suna’s gaze met his over the top of the laptop. “Even if they’re not sure that you’re actually in a relationship?”

Fair point. “Ugh. I dunno. It’s yer call, Suna. What are you comfortable with?”

“I don’t mind kissing,” Suna said, all casual, and Osamu felt as though he’d been struck in the heart with a spear. “Kissing is fine with me.” The clacking of the keyboard followed this statement. “Are you fine with that?”

Osamu cleared his throat. Then coughed. “Yeah,” he said. His voice cracked on the word. “Yeah. That’s—that’s great.”

“What about sitting on your lap? Can I sit on your lap?”

Osamu was sure he was seconds away from melting into the floor. “If—if you wanna.”

Suna tapped away some more, and Osamu wondered if Suna actually enjoyed this. If he reveled in seeing Osamu all flustered. There was no reason to suggest _sitting in Osamu’s lap_ otherwise. “Hand holding, kissing, sitting on your lap,” Suna read out. “Uh, waist touching?”

“You can touch my waist.” He wasn’t sure why Suna would want to. “Suna, it really is up to you and yer level of comfort. I’m pretty easygoing.”

“That you are,” Suna agreed. “Clothes sharing? Bed sharing?”

“I’m not sure what the sleeping arrangements will be like.” That was something he should bring up to his parents. Normally, he and Atsumu crammed into their childhood bunk bed, but with the addition of two other guests, there had to be space set aside for Suna and Sakusa to sleep. He doubted Suna would be forced to share his tiny bottom bunk. “I’ll ask. You can wear my clothes if you want.”

“Sweet.” Osamu made a mental note to check to make sure Suna didn’t wind up stealing any of those clothes over the course of the weekend. “Am I missing anything vital?”

Not that Osamu could think of. If he was being honest, Suna had covered all of the bases. When it came to the art of fake dating, it was obvious who was the expert on the matter. “I think we’re good for now.”

The click of the keys slowed to a full stop, and Suna pushed his laptop aside to get a better view of Osamu’s face. “So. We’re doing this.”

“Yes.” It was too late to back out now. Especially since Suna had already forced himself into this mess. There was no going back. “We are. Thanks. Again.”

Suna waved him off. “Stop thanking me so much. You’re going to regret it when I wind up squeezing into your bed if it gets too cold.”

For the first time in what felt like a long while, Osamu burst out laughing. It was such a comical image, all one-hundred-and-ninety centimeters of Suna clambering to join Osamu on a mattress too small to fit either of them on their own, much less at the same time. 

His laughter must have been a surprise for Suna, too, whose eyebrows twitched as he looked at Osamu as if he had never seen him before. 

Osamu waited for the moment he could breathe again. “You’re funny, Suna,” he said. “I mean, you’re more than welcome to try, but I can’t guarantee I won’t kick you in the face.”

Suna snorted. “Brilliant.”

“Osamu!”

Both of their heads turned in the direction of the counter, where Ginjima stood with his hands propped on his hips. He gave a pointed jerk of the head in the direction of the kitchen, and he didn’t have to say anything for Osamu to get the message. _Back to work._

“I should get back,” Osamu said, getting to his feet. Suna watched him stand, his gaze never leaving him once. “Or the business will fall apart without me.”

“And we don’t want that.”

“Exactly.” Osamu gave Suna a sloppy salute. “Enjoy the rest of yer meal. Stay as long as you’d like. If you want more, just come up and ask for it.”

“I will,” Suna said, sliding his laptop back in front of him. “You’ll regret the day you gave me free food, Osamu. You’ve got a leech now.”

Suna didn’t know that Osamu actually had several leeches that took advantage of his restaurant’s hospitality. But he’d figure it out soon enough. “Oh, yeah?”

“ _Osamu_!”

Osamu whipped his head around. “Gin, stop shoutin’! I’m comin’.”

Osamu flashed Suna one last smile over his shoulder, and it was a pleasant surprise to see Suna already offering him one back. 

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> oi lover boy
> 
> we need to talk
> 
> we have a late practice today
> 
> you wanna stop by?
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> to talk to you willingly?
> 
> no thanks
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> shut UP
> 
> see you in an hour
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> mmHhsjjsjsjsj

* * *

For some reason, Osamu did show up. He couldn’t reason why, considering this was all a glorified attempt from Atsumu to pester him over what Suna had done yesterday and interrogate Osamu further, but he didn’t want to do anything that raised Atsumu’s suspicions again. Suna had successfully warded off Atsumu for the time being with his throwaway comments, and Osamu intended to make sure the effects of that lasted as long as possible.

It wasn’t the first time he showed up for one of MSBY’s practices. The gym was closed off to the public, but Osamu had a guest ID card that granted him access at the front desk. All he had to do was flash it at the security, and he was permitted through. As he walked along, admiring all the photographs and plaques and trophies lining the walls, the squeak of sneakers heightened in volume, and the pungent smell of rubber and sweat flared beneath his nostrils upon his entrance.

The team was in the middle of serving drills. Everyone stood on opposite sides of the court with a basket of volleyballs arranged between them, and they all set off at different speeds and times. Some favored the powerful jump serves, others preferred the careful jump floats, but all attempted to perform their serves to the best of their abilities. If they could do it during practice, they could do it during an actual game. 

Atsumu stood out on the sidelines like a sore thumb with the mixture of his full black tracksuit and his blonde hair. He had a clipboard in his left hand, though Osamu had wondered numerous times whether it had a purpose or if it was merely for show. He wouldn’t put it past Atsumu, trying to look more professional than he really was. 

Osamu debated calling out to him until he noticed the other person at Atsumu’s side. Even from this distance, Osamu could tell he was tall. Maybe even taller than Suna—who was one of the tallest people Osamu had ever met. He had always considered himself and Atsumu tall, but he was certain this man could outdo all three of them. 

Beyond his height, he was also dressed in a similar tracksuit to Atsumu, though his was unzipped to reveal a bright yellow shirt hidden underneath. He looked as though his attention was on the team rather than the idiot chattering away at his side, but he still nodded every few seconds as if to reassure Atsumu that he was still listening.

Osamu was about to grab a seat in the stands when a shout stopped him from doing so.

“Samu!” 

Atsumu was about to dash through the middle of the court before the man beside him caught ahold of the back of his sweatshirt and urged Atsumu to take the longer route around. Osamu was surprised that Atsumu listened. He was even more surprised when the man followed behind Atsumu. 

“You’re here!” Atsumu cheered, practically skipping before he came to an abrupt stop in front of him. “Didja bring me somethin’ to eat?”

“No.” Osamu gave him a weird look. “You didn’t ask.”

“ _Samu_. I shouldn’t hafta ask. You should just bring it.” 

At this point, the other man had caught up. From this distance, Osamu was able to confirm that he was indeed taller than both he and Atsumu. He was even taller than Suna. His black curls were styled to frame one side of his face, cascading onto his forehead, and his dark eyes were assessing, almost following Osamu’s every move. More than anything, he looked as if he was part of the team. He certainly had the build for it. Everything about him screamed professional athlete.

“Oh.” Atsumu seemed to remember that introductions were in order. He gestured between them. “Samu, this is Sakusa Kiyoomi. Omi-kun. Omi-kun, this is my annoyin’ twin brother, Osamu.”

Oh. _Oh._ This was the _boyfriend._

Shit. _Shit._

Atsumu hadn’t dragged him here to pester him. He’d dragged him here to _brag_. By presenting his boyfriend—who was far more handsome and presentable than Osamu had imagined—he was gaining his edge back. It was a genius move on Atsumu’s part. But for Osamu, it left him seething with rage. If he had guessed Atsumu’s intentions from the start, he would have begged Suna to tag along. But no, he hadn’t known. And now he had to listen to his brother gloat about his very real, very tall boyfriend. 

Suna had truly gotten under Atsumu’s skin yesterday. That fact alone was enough to ease the bubble of anger building up inside him until it was manageable. This excuse of summoning Osamu to talk was proof enough. He could at least console himself with this undeniable fact.

Suna Rintarou had pissed Atsumu off. 

To his credit, Sakusa didn’t look as though he was collaborating in some elaborate scheme. He lifted his hand in a polite wave. “Hello.”

“Hiya,” Osamu said, raising his own hand in response. He didn’t have any reason to be frustrated with Sakusa. He knew his brother. Atsumu had dragged him along too, and Sakusa had to be a very unwilling participant. “Nice to meetcha.”

“You too.” His gaze slid over to Atsumu, and the question was obvious: _Is this enough? Can I go now? Have you gloated to your heart’s content?_

Of course, Atsumu wasn’t satisfied. “So ya know how Omi-kun is the nutritionist for the team, right? I toldja ‘bout that.”

Osamu resisted the urge to let out a long sigh. “Yes, Tsumu. You told me.”

“Just wanted to make sure.” Atsumu held up his hands in faux surrender before dropping them back by his sides. “I don’t know where I’d be without Omi-Omi. The team wouldn’t survive without him.”

While Osamu had no doubt that Sakusa’s role behind-the-scenes was important, it felt like Atsumu was overselling it. It wasn’t like any player was going to drop _dead_ if they didn’t meet up with Sakusa to discuss their diet once a week. But who was he to talk? He’d given up volleyball a long time ago. A career as a professional was a vastly different field than playing as a high school amateur. He knew that well. It was why he’d given it up. 

“I’m sure he’s important,” Osamu said. Instead of humoring his brother any longer, Osamu turned his focus onto Sakusa. “Didja choose volleyball specifically? Or did the sport not matter?”

“I played volleyball in high school,” Sakusa answered, as curt and polite a response as he could give. “I applied for a position at several teams. I was lucky enough to find a place with MSBY when I did.”

Osamu nodded. “I’m sure. That’s cool. I don’t know if Tsumu’s toldja, but I run an onigiri business. I don’t really know much about the regulation of an athlete’s diet, though.”

Sakusa’s eyes seemed to fill with a new gleam, and Osamu hoped he’d touched on the right conversation topic. It wasn’t like he was going to pick a fight with Sakusa out of _spite_. If anything, he wanted Sakusa to know he was not as much of a dumbass as Atsumu—and that he also thought this entire thing was stupid.

Even if he had roped Suna into playing his fake boyfriend, he could at least admit that he was stupid. 

“It is quite different,” Sakusa said, his head bobbing. “I have to recommend a diet that changes depending on what a player is doing—like training, or recovering, or competing. I’m the one in charge of hiring food services and creating menus when the team travels. That means I have to account for allergies and vitamin deficiencies.” Sakusa tilted his head back to consider that further. “There’s also the fact that many players are picky, so they’ll automatically prefer to eat foods they enjoy. There’s a lot to consider.”

That all sounded interesting. Anything that involved food caught Osamu’s interest, though he noticed Atsumu’s eyes glazing over at the edge of his vision.

“We should definitely talk about that more,” Osamu said. “I’d love to hear details if you don’t mind.”

Sakusa tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. “I don’t mind.”

“Nice. We’ll have plenty of time durin’ our father’s birthday weekend. You are comin’, right? Tsumu’s toldja ‘bout that?”

“Yes.” Sakusa glanced over at Atsumu. “He has.”

“Great! You’ll get to meet my boyfriend, too. It’ll be a fun time.” _Take that, loser_ , Osamu wanted to shout in Atsumu’s face. He wanted to show he was unbothered by meeting Sakusa for the first time, and he thought he had managed himself well. 

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Sakusa made a face that indicated that he thought it would be anything but. He inclined his head in Atsumu’s direction. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Omi-kun,” Atsumu called after him. 

The two watched Sakusa amble around the court before disappearing through a set of double doors on the other side, where his office was likely located. The team was still in the middle of serving drills, and Atsumu didn’t bother telling them to stop. Despite the noise of volleyballs bouncing along the sleek floors, it didn’t stop Osamu from speaking up again.

“He’s too handsome for you,” Osamu declared. “How much are you payin’ him?”

Atsumu’s head whipped around. “Shut up, Stupid Samu!” His hands clenched into fists at his side, though Osamu knew that it was more to control his own rush of anger rather than any actual threat of wanting to hit Osamu. “You’re one to talk. Sunarin’s obviously the one settling in yer relationship.”

“I never denied that.”

“’Sides,” Atsumu continued on as if Osamu hadn’t spoken up at all, “I really like him, okay? So _don’t_ fuck this up for me.”

Whatever was on the tip of Osamu’s tongue melted away. It was a rare show of sincerity from Atsumu, one that Osamu hardly ever got a good look at. Even though Sakusa had left two whole minutes ago, Atsumu still cast looks over at the double doors, almost as if he was hoping Sakusa would emerge again. Meanwhile, Osamu could only blink and stare at the side of Atsumu’s face.

Atsumu wasn’t lying. He was serious about Sakusa. He liked him. 

And no matter how irritating Atsumu was, Osamu always rooted for him. 

“Right,” Osamu said, bringing a hand up to muss Atsumu’s styled hair. “I know.”

Ignoring the protests from Atsumu, Osamu tugged him into his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you thought!


	5. Chapter 5

“So you’re tellin’ me this…” Ginjima tossed a washcloth over his shoulder as he finished unstacking the last set of chairs. “Not only did Atsumu manage to find someone to stand his ass for longer than a few days, but he managed to get someone _attractive_.”

“Yes.” It had been a few days since Osamu had met Sakusa in person, and even then, he still had difficulty wrapping his mind around the revelation. It wasn’t like Atsumu was unattractive or a completely unbearable person—most of the time—but his standards appeared to be set too high this instance. Sakusa Kiyoomi looked as if he were on some higher pedestal, not unlike the way Kita had held himself back in high school, and if Osamu were to try describing the ideal partner for Sakusa, his first instinct wouldn’t be to imagine Atsumu.

As the pair prepared to open up Onigiri Miya for the day, there was much to be done. The lights were all switched on, the glass display spotless and devoid of fingerprints, and the counters and tables had all been wiped down. While Ginjima finished unstacking the last of the chairs, Osamu made a mental checklist in his head as he considered what he’d get ahead of in the kitchen before the rest of the employees scheduled for this shift showed up. 

There was an hour between now and the scheduled opening time. There were three hours between now and lunch time, which had come to take on a new meaning these past few days. Like clockwork, every lunch, Suna would stop by. He never stayed as long as he had the first day, residing at his table until it was closing time, but he always stopped for his lunch break and carved out an hour of his time. 

Before, Osamu would postpone his own break until after the lunch hour rush, but now, as soon as Suna poked his head into the entrance of the restaurant, it was his turn to abandon the task at hand and join Suna at his table for a half hour. It was the first time Osamu could remember disregarding work in a split second rather than forcing himself to see it through until there was absolutely nothing left to do. It was like his brain switched off at the sight of Suna, and for the time that Suna remained at his table, Osamu wasn’t satisfied until they had a proper conversation.

For the past few days, he and Suna had fulfilled their agreement to try to get to know each other as much as they could. It was an incredible feat, fitting large morsels of memories and experiences into small gaps of time, but Osamu found himself learning more about Suna that he ever had before. 

Suna had a younger sister. He had grown up in Aichi. His career in photography had started out as a joke until it became serious. He could be known to slack off, but according to him, the only thing he remained completely serious about were his core exercises. Every tidbit never felt like enough, only adding to his growing intrigue, and Osamu tucked each piece of information into the back of his mind.

In the same conversations, he told Suna about himself. He talked a lot about Atsumu. A _lot._ Most of it came in serious warnings and taunts, but the rest was begrudging respect for his twin and his career. He mentioned the experience starting up Onigiri Miya, even though the full journey was far too vast and expansive to fit into one sitting. He spoke about food. One of Suna’s first questions had pertained to his favorite food, and after ten minutes of rambling on about all of the foods Osamu had yet to try, Suna had come to the conclusion on his own that Osamu loved food a little too much and could not be bothered to pick a favorite for the life of him.

All in all, though Suna still freaked him out with his uncanny ability to stir shit up wherever he was, Osamu liked his company. 

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Ginjima remarked. “But I think Atsumu seein’ someone isn’t as drastic as ya convincin’ Sunarin to play fake boyfriend.”

Osamu shot Ginjima a glare from his position behind the register. “Watch it, Gin.”

“Just sayin’.” Ginjima dropped another chair onto the floor, scraping it beneath the table. “I like Suna, though.”

Suna and Ginjima had been formally introduced yesterday for the first time. It had been inevitable, considering Suna kept referring to Gin as Osamu’s “plucky employee.” The two had got on well, better than Osamu had expected. He had worried that Ginjima’s overzealous nature wouldn’t mesh with Suna’s natural easygoing charm, but those fears had been for naught. 

“Thanks,” Osamu said, returning his attention to the register. “Wadaya think? Is he a good enough actor for the cause?”

“Oh, yeah. For sure. He told me my fly was down with the straightest face while I was jugglin’ a tray full of glasses of water. I was so stressed I nearly dropped them all to the floor.” Ginjima paused. “Needless to say, my fly was _not_ down.”

Osamu chuckled. That sounded like Suna. 

“Is he comin’ by today?”

“I don’t know when he comes in,” Osamu said. “Maybe.”

“You think he’ll stop by at the same time Atsumu comes? That would be a fun showdown.” Ginjima arranged the last chair next to the last table. “There are very few people that I’d trust to be able to handle Atsumu at all times. Kita-san is one of ‘em. I think Suna will manage well, too.”

“I think it’s safe to say his boyfriend is in the same category.” From what he gathered, Sakusa was as particular and methodical as Atsumu had claimed. With those kinds of people, their orderliness tended to be the one thing that could curb Atsumu’s recklessness. Sakusa and Kita both fell into those characteristics. Suna, however, could handle Atsumu merely by riling him up further until all the fight left him. “You shoulda seen them. Atsumu becomes like an obedient golden retriever.”

“Damn.” Ginjima wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Now I really wish I coulda seen it.”

“They’ll probably stop by sometime. Atsumu has to torment me periodically, or he might die.”

Ginjima barked a laugh before sidling up to Osamu at the counter. “Well, you torment him, too.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do. Isn’t that why you’re doin’ all this?”

Osamu scowled. It wasn’t about Atsumu. After meeting Sakusa, it was less and less about Atsumu, and more about the principle. It was unfair that Atsumu was seen as the more successful of the two by default because he had a tall boyfriend. 

“I don’t pay you for backtalk, Gin,” Osamu said, tossing a rag from behind the counter. It slapped Ginjima in the face. “We’re about to open. I’m goin’ to the kitchen.”

Ginjima peeled the rag off. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, setting it down on the counter. “Just—be careful.”

Osamu raised one eyebrow. “What are you talkin’ about?”

Ginjima shrugged, though the gesture was loaded in unspoken thoughts. “Just—you tend to think of Atsumu as bein’ the one with his heart on his sleeve. You hide yours a little better. But you both get caught up in yer emotions super quickly. I’m just sayin’. Be careful.”

It was the vaguest warning Ginjima had ever given him, and even after considering it over in his head several times while molding the rice in his hands, he couldn’t make sense of it. Maybe he had a tendency to get worked up in one of his and Atsumu’s petty squabbles, but that wasn’t uncharacteristic of him. Instead of allowing his mind to linger on Gin’s words, he thought about Suna—and he hoped that he’d show up again today. 

* * *

Night had fallen by the time Osamu left his car and hobbled up to the door of his apartment building. He held several reusable bags tucked between his arms, filled to the brim with his weekly set of groceries, and the combined weight of them started to drag him down as he reached a hand into his back pocket for his key fob. He couldn’t help but grunt as he dragged the door open with his foot once the reader granted him access. 

His shoulders started to feel the strain as he heaved the bags over to the elevator. Though Osamu normally ignored the elevator in favor of the stairs, he didn’t hesitate before stumbling towards it. He kicked his foot up again to hit the button and summon the elevator down. In the minute that passed while waiting for the lift to hit the ground floor, Osamu braced himself against the wall to keep himself from dropping everything on the floor. 

In retrospect, he did this to himself. He could have taken two separate trips to collect all of his groceries from the car, but he had been convinced he could do it in one go. In this case, his laziness had spurred him into more trouble than it was worth. 

The ding of the elevator was a breath of fresh air. With unsteady steps, Osamu ambled inside. He used his elbow to hit the button for the second floor. It waited a few seconds to see if anyone else was entering before the doors drew shut with a decisive slam. The elevator almost rattled as it began its climb upwards, and with the combined shortness of breath from bearing the heavy burden, Osamu hoped that time would speed up. 

The elevator came to a slow stop on the second floor, its doors creaking open with a groan. The end was in sight. He could spot his apartment from this distance. Osamu moved as quickly as he could without spilling anything out of the tops of the bags, but when he reached his front door, he recognized another problem.

He couldn’t unlock the door with one hand.

“Fuck me,” Osamu muttered to himself. He lifted one knee in an attempt to balance one bag while he fished his keys out of his other pocket. 

From behind him, a pair of footsteps climbed up the staircase, but Osamu was too distracted to focus on the sound until they quickened. 

“Hey! Let me help you with that.”

Osamu froze in the middle of yanking his keys out of his pocket and juggling the bags in his grip. 

The voice had come from another young man around his age. He could have been a year or two older, but the impish quality to his features gave him a youthful glow. If that wasn’t enough, the pink tinge to his hair struck him next. His lips were twisted in faint amusement at the sight of Osamu’s predicament, but his arms were still outstretched in what appeared to be a genuine offer. 

“Oh, sure,” Osamu said, huffing. “Uh?”

Instead of waiting for Osamu to figure out how to proceed, the stranger hefted one of the bags out of Osamu’s hands. The sudden loss of weight was a relief, and Osamu’s hand was free to grip his key firmly and undo the lock on his front door. The other man waited behind him patiently, humming under his breath. Rather than adding pressure to the situation, it became comforting background noise until the lock gave, and the door swung inwards. 

Osamu pushed the door open further with his free hand. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem,” the stranger said. “Where do you want me to put it down?”

“Oh.” Osamu had imagined relieving the stranger once the door was open, but if he insisted, then Osamu might as well make use of the hospitality. No one in this apartment building—other than Suna—had ever reached out to him before. “If you don’t mind, you can leave it in the kitchen. Right through there.”

“Got it.” The door fell shut as the stranger followed Osamu’s instructions and brought the bag into the kitchen. Osamu joined him a second later, shoving the last bag right beside the one the stranger had lugged in. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” Osamu said. “Seriously.”

If he hadn’t showed up at the opportune movement and offered his assistance, Osamu believed that he’d still be out in the hall, trying to clean up the inevitable mess that would occur when all of those groceries spilled onto the floor. 

“Don’t mention it,” he said. He stuck out a hand. “I’m Hanamaki Takahiro, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever met. You can call me Makki.”

Osamu clasped his hand, hoping that his palm wasn’t as sweaty as he thought it was. “Miya Osamu. It’s nice to meetcha.”

“Miya Osamu,” Hanamaki repeated. His eyebrows scrunched together, as if there was something familiar about Osamu’s name. But Osamu knew for sure he had never seen Hanamaki before. “Miya Osamu.” His eyes widened. “ _Oh._ ”

Osamu blinked.

“Holy shit!” Hanamaki cried out. In a strange turn of events, he held his hand out for a high five. 

What? 

“Uh…” Osamu stared at the waiting palm. He knew how high fives worked, but he didn’t think revealing his identity required one in exchange. “What?”

“Oh, come on.” Hanamaki thrust his arm further forward. “Just humor me.”

Osamu supposed it wasn’t the weirdest thing anyone had asked him to do. No, there was a long list of activities Atsumu had forced him into that definitely ranked higher. Hell, him asking Suna to be his fake boyfriend could be considered weird. In terms of strangeness, this wasn’t the worst. 

Osamu smacked his hand against Hanamaki’s in a resounding slap. The sound pricked through the entire room, and it was hard enough that he felt the sting even when he drew his arm back. The sting was nothing compared to the absolute shock that coursed through him at Hanamaki’s next words. 

“He was right!” Hanamaki beamed. “You are hot.”

Dumbfounded, Osamu’s jaw slackened. “Uh, what? Who said I was what?”

“Your boyfriend. He said you were hot. I didn’t believe him until now.” Hanamaki shrugged, as if this earth-shattering revelation was miniscule. Osamu felt as though someone had hit him upside the head. “Anyway, I got to go.” He jerked a thumb over in the direction of the door. “It was nice meeting you, Osamu. I’m sure we’ll see each other sometime soon. If you ever need anything, knock on my door. I live in 213.”

“Oh.” Osamu still felt a little speechless. His brain was caught on the _your boyfriend said you were hot_ part of the conversation. “Right. Sure.”

“I live there with my boyfriend, so don’t get scared if he answers the door.” The corner of Hanamaki’s lip quirked up. “You might have met him already. Mattsun? Matsukawa Issei?” Rather than waiting for Osamu to answer, he went on offering further descriptions of the boyfriend that Osamu most definitely did _not_ recognize. “Curly black hair.” He raised his hand a few centimeters taller than the top of his head. “About this high. Always looks like he’s on his way to a funeral, because he always is.”

Osamu was starting to wonder if there was some requirement in the rental agreement that ensured that everyone who lived in this building had to possess some eccentricity. If that was the case, Osamu doubted he’d fit the bill. First Suna, now Hanamaki. Everyone he encountered had the ability to knock the breath out of him in one conversation. 

Though somehow, it felt different with Suna. Osamu didn’t mind it so much.

“No,” Osamu said. “I haven’t met yer boyfriend.” 

“Bummer.” Hanamaki’s shoulders dropped. “Eh, no worries. I’ll introduce you to him sometime. Okay. I really have to go. Later, Osamu.” 

Hanamaki spared him one last look over his shoulder before striding to the door. Osamu rushed to usher him out—as that was the polite thing to do—but Hanamaki waved him off, raising his eyebrows as if to say, _Really, dude_ , before shutting the door behind him. 

Meanwhile, Osamu was stuck in the middle of his kitchen with bags full of groceries left to unpack and an off-kilter mind to sort through.

* * *

Osamu rested on top of his covers, his face turned towards the ceiling as his ears strained to pick up on the faint patters of footsteps overhead. It was past one in the morning again, and the eerie silence that came after midnight sent a chill down his spine. It was enough knowing that he had to be up in a few hours to open up the restaurant the last day before the weekend arrived. But he couldn’t bring himself to sleep, his mind too restless to settle for a moment, and he focused on Suna instead. 

He wondered if Suna was wearing his fox slippers again. 

Either way, it was rare for Suna to still be stumbling around his apartment this late, especially since Osamu knew for a fact that Suna didn’t have a deadline to meet. 

Osamu’s fingers itched toward his phone.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i can hear you
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Sorry
> 
> I’ll try to be quieter

On cue, a metal pan clattered against the ceiling, and Osamu winced as he typed out his response.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> why are you awake
> 
> go to sleep
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> I got hungry
> 
> I’m making myself mac and cheese
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> nOW?
> 
> at this hour?
> 
> do you even know how to make mac and cheese?
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> I was in the mood
> 
> And I don’t know
> 
> I’m about to find out, aren’t I

The cook that rested deep in Osamu’s soul cringed at the thought of someone messing up such a simple recipe. Before he thought too hard about what he was about to do, Osamu shoved on a pair of slippers, pulled on a sweatshirt, and grabbed his keys before making the climb up to Suna’s apartment.

The door swung open within two seconds of knocking on it, and Suna stared back at him with bleary eyes. He, too, wore a sweatshirt—his a shade of black—but this time, it was paired with a pair of athletic shorts that matched the ones Osamu currently wore. Sure enough, as Osamu’s gaze dropped down, the familiar fox slippers were fixed onto Suna’s feet. 

Wordlessly, Suna took a step back and held the door open wider. Osamu stepped inside and wandered into Suna’s apartment. It looked the same as last time, though all the lights in the kitchen were cranked on, and there were several pots arranged over the counter.

“For fuck’s sake,” Osamu said, picking up one that had dropped onto the floor. This must have been the one he heard. “This is a warzone. Are you cookin’ mac and cheese or a full-course meal?”

Suna chuckled under his breath, the sound deep with exhaustion, and the difference in his usual voice was enough to send a shiver across Osamu’s skin. “Sorry about that. You didn’t have to come up and help me.”

“If I didn’t,” Osamu said, clearing most of the pots to the side, “you would’ve wound up settin’ off the fire alarm or somethin’. Come to think of it, I’ve never actually seen you cook.”

“I can cook.” Suna tucked his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He always looked different like this. Much softer. It was like the night smoothened out most of his mischief, making him more earnest and honest. Osamu liked it. He wanted to be around this Suna all the time. “Simple stuff.”

Osamu leveled him with a look. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t ever seen you cook.”

Suna snorted and rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “You watch.” He wiggled his fingers in Osamu’s direction. “I will be a great assistant.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Suna was seated on top of the counter, his legs swinging back and forth, providing no help or assistance whatsoever. Instead, he watched as Osamu drained the water from the boiling pot and began to mix the cheese sauce in. 

Osamu didn’t mind. Actually, he preferred it that Suna got out of the way. If there was one thing he was fussy about, it was the state of his kitchen. He didn’t like it when people hovered or couldn’t focus on a single task. He’d rather do it all himself if he didn’t have capable people working alongside him. 

The kitchen was his special place. It was where he had fallen in love with the simple process of creating, and years later, that love hadn’t faded. Rather, it had bloomed, growing stronger with the opening of Onigiri Miya. But even then, Osamu delighted in the quiet moments when he had a small kitchen to himself, and he could mess around with recipes and ingredients in search of the next best thing. It didn’t matter if it turned out horrible. Everything was a learning experience. 

He knew that well. Every scar on his hand told the story of Osamu falling in love with cooking, and as he stirred the spoon, his hand moved with the calculated practice of someone who had done this countless times. Who had learned the art of cooking for someone else and still savored their reactions once they sat down for the meal. 

Osamu’s attention was honed in on the cheese as it melted against the macaroni, and he didn’t register the foot creeping up the side of his thigh until Suna’s toe grazed his skin. The simple contact alone was enough to make him jolt in place, though years of experience ensured that his arm didn’t stray. If he knocked into the pot now, it would be a disaster.

Osamu gave Suna a dirty look. “What are you doin’?”

Suna lifted both of his brows, the perfect picture of innocence. “Nothing.”

He returned his attention to mixing in the cheese, and this time, he was prepared for the moment when Suna’s foot dragged the bottom of his shorts up. Or so he thought. Even though he had expected it, the sensation gave him shivers. “Suna.”

“What?”

“You’re distractin’ me.”

“Sorry.” Suna’s foot didn’t move. “I’m lucky, you know. Not everyone has a fake boyfriend who also happens to be an amazing cook.”

“Mmhmm,” Osamu hummed. Suna could try distracting him all he wanted to, but Osamu had one aim and one aim only. As the last of the cheese melted in with the macaroni, he reached for the spare bowl Suna had left on the counter. “It’s done.”

“Ooh.” Suna leaned forward so far that Osamu worried he’d fall onto the floor. “Looks tasty.” 

His foot left Osamu’s leg a second later, and Osamu loosened a sigh of relief. It wasn’t like Suna had made him uncomfortable. If that was the case, Osamu would have verbalized it. It was the fact that this whole scene felt _too_ domestic that was setting him off. He didn’t know how to respond to it—just as he hadn’t known how to respond to Hanamaki’s mention that Suna had called him _hot._

Suna hopped off the counter. He peered over Osamu’s shoulder as Osamu heaved a few large spoonfuls into the bowl. “Are you going to have some?” Suna asked.

“Uh.” Osamu paused, his spoon poised in midair. Although he hadn’t noticed it at first, after staring at the blend of cheese and macaroni for the past few minutes, his stomach had started to rumble. It should have been too late to even consider eating something, but Osamu wasn’t about to turn down free food. “Sure.”

Suna reached over him to grab another bowl from the cabinet above Osamu’s head. “Here you go,” Suna said, handing it over.

“Thanks.” Osamu dropped a few spoonfuls of macaroni into his own bowl. 

The two of them didn’t bother heading over to the table to eat. They remained in the kitchen, leaning against the counters, the fluorescent lights beaming overhead. The only sound that remained other than the hum from the stove was the tap of their chopsticks against the insides of their bowls.

It wasn’t the first thing Osamu would have made himself as a midnight snack, but it was strangely appetizing. He wound up finishing up the bowl quicker than he thought, the cheese melting against his own tongue the same way he’d watched it do so in the pot, and his belly was left satisfied and full. 

“Mmm,” Osamu hummed. “That was good.”

Suna nodded his agreement. He still had a good portion of his bowl left. Unlike Osamu, he seemed to be a slow eater. That made sense. Osamu had a long history of racing against Atsumu to finish off their first plates before reaching for seconds. He was used to fighting for his food. 

“It’s delicious,” Suna corrected. He swallowed before continuing. “Thank you. For coming up here. And doing this. I know you have work in a few hours. You didn’t have to.”

Osamu shrugged. If he was being honest, the prospect of work seemed so far away. All that was on his mind was Suna standing in front of him in this tiny, cramped kitchen, asking him to make him macaroni and cheese as if it was the most extravagant dish in the world. While he now felt like he could sleep easily, his stomach content, he didn’t feel the urge to rush through this conversation to dart into his own bed. He didn’t mind making it last.

“Like you said,” Osamu said, “you’re lucky yer fake boyfriend knows how to cook.”

Suna stopped eating long enough to shoot him a dopey smile. “That I am.”

Osamu went to put his dirty bowl in the sink. When he turned on the water to start washing it, he heard Suna’s protests behind him. 

“I can do it,” Osamu insisted. 

This was part of his routine. This was part of his process. His mother had instilled this habit into him after the first few times Osamu had used the kitchen alone. He had to learn to clean up after himself. Every dish he’d used, every utensil he’d used—it all had to be washed and dried. It had been tedious work at first, but as time went on, it became the end to a cycle Osamu had created, and his time in the kitchen never felt complete until everything was back in its proper place.

“Still,” Suna mumbled, his mouth full. “I feel bad. You’re the guest. You just came up here and _cooked_ for me.”

“I’m yer fake boyfriend, remember?” Osamu trailed dish soap along the sponge. “I don’t mind.”

“But you don’t have to do that!” Suna sighed with resignation once it became obvious that Osamu had no intentions of stopping. “Fine.”

Osamu flashed him a smile over his shoulder. “Glad you’ve come to see it my way.” He twisted back towards the sink and started scrubbing the bowl with the sponge. The cheese residue had started to crust along the edges, and it took extra force to dig it out. “By the way, I met someone today. I think he knows you. Hanamaki Takahiro?”

There was a clipped silence following the question. “Makki,” Suna said, the name sounding more like a curse.

“Yeah,” Osamu said. He kept his gaze fixed forward as he rinsed off the dish until it was spotless. “He was pretty friendly. A little strange, but nice.” Osamu paused. “You told him we’re datin’?”

Suna sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. 

Osamu looked back over his shoulder. Suna had a pinched expression on his face as he looked down at his bowl. Osamu had never seen that look on him before. Suna had always come off as confident and assured. This made him seem almost hesitant.

“I’m assumin’ you didn’t mention the fake part of it?” Osamu continued when Suna didn’t reply.

“No,” Suna mumbled. “Okay. You came up in conversation, and I panicked. I didn’t know whether I should call you my real boyfriend—in case Makki ever crosses paths with Atsumu—or my fake boyfriend. In the end, I figured it would be easier if everyone assumed we were dating for real.”

“I see.” Osamu set the bowl on a drying rack arranged next to the sink. He shook his hands off, the droplets of water spraying everywhere, and he turned around to face Suna fully. “So, you only told Makki?”

Suna winced. “No. Not exactly. Whatever Makki knows, Mattsun—his boyfriend—knows. And I might’ve told Konoha too. And a few other people.”

“Jeez. That’s a lot of people.” 

“Sorry. Are you mad?”

Osamu blinked. “No.” If anything, this made things more clear-cut. If everyone assumed that he and Suna were dating for real, it made this whole scheme easier to pull off. So long as he and Suna managed to keep it up all the time, there wouldn’t be any problems. This way, there were less people at risk of revealing the true nature behind his and Suna’s relationship. All he had to worry about was being able to fake it until the birthday weekend. “I’m not mad. It’s fine. Now we don’t have to come up with excuses for why we’re hangin’ out together all the time.”

Suna’s head jerked upward. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Osamu shrugged. “I mean, it simplifies things. We pretend we’re in a real relationship for the next few weeks. Then we break up. It’s easier than pretendin’ in front of some people and not others.”

“Right!” Suna appeared energized at the lack of anger on Osamu’s part. “And I figured that we should practice before we visit your parents’. I’m having some people over tomorrow. Well, later today, I guess. You should come. We can practice pretending.”

Osamu blinked. It was one thing to tell everyone about their pretend relationship. It was another to actually _pretend_ in front of other people. The wariness must have been evident in his expression, because Suna rushed to reassure him.

“It’ll only be a few people,” Suna said. “Makki, Mattsun, Konoha. Maybe a few others. You can leave whenever you want. It’s better than us trying right away to fake a relationship when we meet your parents. This way, we can work up to it.”

Suna had a point there. The ultimate challenge would be convincing his family that this relationship was real—especially under Atsumu’s watchful eye.

“I have work early Saturday morning,” Osamu said, though it was a half-hearted excuse on his part. 

The MSBY Black Jackals had an away game this weekend, so for once, Osamu didn’t have to deal with his idiot brother while catering to fans at the Onigiri Miya stand. For once, he had a break. He had been hired to serve at another match, two teams pretty evenly matched mid-table. It didn’t matter who played. Osamu would always leap at the opportunity to branch out and expand his influence at these games. Plus, he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel at home within the atmosphere of second division volleyball.

“So do I,” Suna said. “Schweiden Adlers versus Sendai Frogs.”

“Oh. Right.” He should have thought about the fact that Suna would be called in to cover the match. 

“Yeah,” Suna said. His eyes narrowed, though there was a sliver of mischief within them. “Funny how you forgot. Anyway, what do you say? Are you down?”

It was all starting to feel too real. Osamu hadn’t imagined how far he’d go down the rabbit hole the first time he’d lied between his teeth at his restaurant and blurted out that he was also seeing someone, just to erase the edge Atsumu had created for himself. If he had known, would he have stopped himself?

But, on the other hand, this tentative agreement—or friendship or _whatever_ —between him and Suna would not have happened without the interference of his big mouth. So. It wasn’t a complete loss. Actually, it felt more like a win in many ways. 

“Sure,” he said. “I’m down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first saturday update! let me know what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

His brain was an addled mess all day. While Osamu took orders and disappeared into the kitchen to make more onigiri, his mind was elsewhere. When Suna had first proposed the idea of hanging out with his friends, it had seemed like a basic, innocent concept. But as the hours went on, Osamu kept coming up with all the possible ways it could go wrong.

He didn’t do things like this. He rarely invited someone out to grab a drink or called someone over to spend the evening with him. The person he saw the most was—embarrassingly—Atsumu. And Atsumu didn’t count. He couldn’t call the twin brother he’d been stuck with since birth actual decent company. All the time they spent together was brought about by force, not choice. 

The other person he spent the rest of his time with was Ginjima, and it was a different situation spending time with someone he’d known since high school. There were no boundaries to avoid, no rules to follow, and his filter was nonexistent. He knew that—other than Atsumu—Ginjima was his best friend. 

He lacked experience when it came to meeting new people. The evidence of that was written in how he’d responded to Hanamaki the other day. He’d felt like a fish out of water, completely away from his element, and if he had to deal with a whole collection of Suna’s friends, he didn’t know how he’d survive the evening.

Because when considering Hanamaki and Suna together, there was a definite pattern: devilish fiends with endless chaotic streaks. Osamu did _not_ fit into that category. Even when Atsumu riled him up, he saw himself as a balance of collected and aggressive. He did not wreck havoc for the sake of it. He didn’t interfere with anyone’s business beyond his own.

“Osamu,” Ginjima called as he burst into the kitchen, a tray of dirty plates balanced in his arms. “I’m takin’ my break now.”

“Sure,” Osamu said. Ginjima’s interruption had broken up the stream of his overthinking, leaving him with a misshapen onigiri in his palm. 

“You’ve been weird today,” Ginjima said, dropping the dishes into the sink. He carefully arranged them for whoever was on cleaning duty today. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’.”

“Doesn’t look like nothin’.”

“Ugh.” Osamu pulled his hands back. If he tried again, he would mess up the next, too. It didn’t help that weariness from a lack of proper sleep was setting in. He held back numerous yawns today already. “It’s just—Suna invited me over tonight to hang out with his friends.”

Ginjima looked sideways at him, and it was obvious from his expression that he thought Osamu was an absolute _idiot._ Osamu almost missed when Ginjima would stress out over his and Atsumu’s antics back when they were in school, rather than leveling him with a flat look nowadays. He had lost his tolerance for Osamu’s bullshit with age. 

“And?” Ginjima cocked an eyebrow. “What’s the big deal?”

“I dunno,” Osamu said. It felt ridiculous putting his nervousness into words. Someone like Atsumu would never get it: the weird bundle of anxiety that came with pushing yourself out of your comfort zone never got easier. “He told them all that we’re datin’ for real.”

“Is that what you’re so stressed about?” Ginjima held up a palm. “Wait—who knows that this whole deal is fake? You, Suna, me…”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Ginjima’s chest swelled up. “I feel special. But then again, this entire thing is stupid. So.”

“Shut yer trap,” Osamu said. “Anyway, so he told them all that we’re datin’ for real, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act. I don’t know what his friends are gonna be like. If they’re anythin’ like him, I’m toast.”

Ginjima digested that for a second. “I don’t know what I’d do with multiple Sunas. I thought having two Miyas was too much.”

“You’re on a roll today, aren’t ya?” Osamu braced his back against the counter. “It’s the first time that we’re actually actin’ like a couple in public. And I—I don’t really just... _hang out_ with people.”

“I think you’re freakin’ out about this too much.”

“Oh, thanks for that.”

“I’m just bein’ honest.” Ginjima set the tray aside for the next string of orders. “This will prolly be good for you. I mean, when’s the last time you’ve properly hung out with someone other than me and Atsumu?”

“Uh, I made macaroni and cheese for Suna last night.”

“Other than Suna.” Ginjima did a double take. “Wait, what? You made him macaroni and cheese. Why?”

“He wanted some.” Osamu shrugged. He couldn’t understand the flabbergasted look Gin had. He was a cook. He owned a food business. Surely, it wasn’t a big deal for him to make his fake boyfriend a meal. A meal he’d scrounged up in ten minutes, but a meal nonetheless. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

“Nothin’,” Ginjima said gruffly. “Okay. You’re not gonna be alone there. You’ve got Suna. And if you don’t feel comfortable, just leave. Yer apartment is right below. As for actin’ like a couple, I wouldn’t worry about that. I mean, I wouldn’t like it if my friend and his boyfriend were all over each other the first time I met him. It would be weird.” He propped a hand on his hip. “Just act natural. If they figure it out, who cares? They’re not Atsumu. You’ll learn for the next time.”

That made a lot of sense. Ginjima had managed to take all of Osamu’s worries and crush them beneath his fist. It was both refreshing and infuriating all at once. He didn’t have to fret over whether they acted like the perfect couple. The only people he had to convince were his family. And Ginjima was right. If he didn’t like it, all he had to do was leave. No one was going to force him to stay.

“Okay,” Osamu said. “Thanks, Gin.”

“What wouldja do without me?” Ginjima offered him a reassuring smile before heading out to the main restaurant. “As I said before, I’m takin’ my break. Don’t bother me.”

“No promises,” Osamu called after him as he readjusted his focus and set to work making onigiri again. 

* * *

> **  
> Miya Osamu**
> 
> uh what time should i come over
> 
> do i bring like a cake
> 
> or fruit
> 
> do i bring fruit suna

* * *

> **  
> Miya Osamu**
> 
> gin suna isn’t answering me
> 
> DO I BRING FRUIT
> 
> OR A CAKE
> 
> WILL IT BE RUDE IF I SHOW UP EMPTY-HANDED
> 
> GIN
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> I don’t know??????
> 
> You’re dating him not bribing him
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> BUT IS EVERYONE ELSE GOING TO THINK I’M A TERRIBLE BOYFRIEND IF I DON’T BRING FRUIT
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> No they’ll think you’re going to compensate for it later????
> 
> Lmao
> 
> I’m funny
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> compensate how
> 
> by bringing dessert next time?
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> I don’t want to talk to you anymore
> 
> Goodbye
> 
> Don’t bring fruit

* * *

> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Come by around 8
> 
> You don’t have to bring anything
> 
> I can’t remember the last time I saw Makki touch a fruit
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> oh okay sounds good

* * *

It was honestly the most incredible feat that he managed to remain calm and collected while responding to Suna. As he climbed the stairs to the second floor ten minutes to eight, his legs felt as though they were weighed down by ankle weights. Each step took considerable effort, and by the time he reached Suna’s door, he was seriously rethinking his decision to show up empty-handed. 

He owned a restaurant, for crying out loud. He never showed up anywhere without some food to bribe people for their affection.

But it was too late now. With Ginjima’s last text— _Stop freaking out, Osamu_ —imprinted against his eyelids, he brought a hand up to knock against the front door to Suna’s apartment. It took less than two seconds for a rush of footsteps to hurry towards him, almost resembling a giant dog, and when the door swung inward, it wasn’t Suna who greeted him.

Hanamaki looked considerably more casual than the last time Osamu had seen him, decked out in a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee. His hair fell over his forehead, almost obscuring the way his eyes danced in permanent delight with the world. “Osamu!”

Before Osamu could respond, Hanamaki turned around to call into the apartment, “ _Suna,_ your boyfriend is here!”

An involuntary shiver worked through him at the reminder that—as of tonight—he was playing the part of Suna’s boyfriend. And Suna was his in return. His stomach twisted, though he was sure it was from the nerves building up again. 

“I’m so happy you made it,” Hanamaki said, ushering Osamu inside. “Come in, come in. When Suna said you were coming, I was pumped. I’m glad we get to hang out properly.”

“Right,” Osamu said. Every time he hung around Hanamaki, it felt like he became off-kilter. It didn’t matter how much he had prepared himself for this in advance; he was still out of touch. Osamu bent over to take off his shoes. “Me, too.”

“My boyfriend’s here too,” Hanamaki said, “so you get to meet him.”

Osamu slipped on a pair of slippers left by the front door. He should have remembered to bring his own pair. Damn it. “Oh, cool.”

Thankfully, by some force of nature, he was put out of his misery with Suna’s appearance around the corner. He didn’t look much different from last night, albeit more rested up and relaxed. In another pair of sweatpants and a random hoodie, he looked as he always did. But there was something about those eyes—even as full of amusement as they were—that put him at ease. Ginjima was right. He wasn’t alone here. 

“Hey, Osamu,” Suna greeted him. 

There was a bit of a lapse in movement as Osamu debated whether he should attempt to embrace Suna or stay still. Hanamaki was still here. He didn’t know how he should react. In the end, Suna made the decision for him. He clasped one of Osamu’s hands in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze, offering a pleasant smile that was all Osamu’s.

“Hey,” Osamu said, his voice softer than usual. His next sentence slipped out before he could help it. “Missed you.”

Suna’s eyes crinkled. “Missed you, too.” He straightened and gave his attention to Hanamaki, who had watched their exchange with vague interest. Suna gestured between them. “Makki, Osamu. Osamu, Makki. I’ve heard you’ve already met.”

“We have,” Hanamaki said. “I helped him with his groceries. Stole his wallet. It’s a moving story.”

“What?”

“Ignore him,” Suna ordered. “Makki’s like this.”

Hanamaki flashed Osamu a devilish grin, only confirming what Osamu had feared. Hanamaki had the same penchant for chaos that Suna did. It was bound to be a long night. 

Hanamaki darted further into the apartment, out of hearing distance, and Suna turned back to Osamu. “Sorry about that,” Suna said. 

“No worries,” Osamu said, though he had many, many worries. “I thought I was early. Guess not.”

“You are,” Suna assured him. “It’s just that everyone else likes to leech off me early too. Would you like something to drink? Konoha brought beer.”

Against his better judgement—and a nagging voice that sounded too much like Gin’s, reminding him that he had to get up early tomorrow to work the stand at the match—he agreed. He let Suna guide him into the kitchen, where the storm of loud voices could be heard more easily, and he waited as Suna grabbed a canned beer for him out of the fridge.

“So, good news,” Suna said as he handed it over. The metal felt cold to the touch, and Osamu flicked the tab before tilting his head back for a long gulp to start off the night. “Kenma’s not here. He couldn’t make it. He streams for a living, and he couldn’t bail tonight.”

“Oh.” Osamu had no idea who this Kenma person was. “Okay.”

Suna lowered his voice as he shut the refrigerator door. “That’s better for us. Kenma is, like, the ultimate test. He’s super observant, so if anyone were to figure us out, it would be him. Thankfully, he’s not here, which makes our jobs easier tonight.”

That did sound like a positive. Though judging by the sheer volume of conversations being held in the living room, along with the collection of heads that bobbed from where they sat on the couch, they still had a lot of people to keep up this facade in front of. 

“Got it,” Osamu said, cradling his beer in his hands.

“Okay. Let me introduce you to everyone.”

Although it was the last thing he wanted, Osamu let Suna guide him into the living room, and all at once, several heads turned in their direction. There were six people in total—not including either Suna or Osamu—and the amount of attention on them made his insides turn with unease. It wasn’t like he was unused to eyes on him. When he’d played volleyball, that was how he operated most days. But he’d forgotten what it was like being thrust beneath a magnifying glass for all to see. He’d grown accustomed to anonymity.

Hanamaki lounged across the floor, leaning against someone that Osamu guessed had to be his boyfriend. But everyone else was unrecognizable, except—

“Myaa-sam,” one of them blurted out. Osamu recognized his face, even though he didn’t have a name to put to it. It was the guy he’d called an overworked librarian in his head, though he looked far more at ease now, perched on the edge of the couch.

“Oh, you know each other already?” Suna asked.

“I buy his onigiri all the time,” he said.

“I don’t know yer name, though,” Osamu said with a frown. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m Akaashi.” Akaashi. It was nice putting a name to the face. He had seen Akaashi countless times during all the matches he’d catered for. It was a small world. 

“Nice to meetcha,” Osamu said, nodding. 

Suna took over introductions from there. He pointed out everyone else in the room, rattling off names that Osamu doubted he’d be able to remember in a second— _Washio, Konoha, Komori._ Hanamaki’s boyfriend was named Matsukawa, and he offered a lazy salute when the attention was on him. 

“I feel like I know you,” Komori said once the introductions were over. He squinted, trying to place Osamu, but Osamu was certain that he’d never seen Komori in his life. “Where do I know you from?”

“Uh—”

Komori snapped his fingers. “Atsumu!”

Of course. Even when he wasn’t in the room, Osamu couldn’t escape the bastard. “Oh. You’re a Black Jackals fan?”

“Yeah, but,” Komori said, waving him off, “that’s not why you felt so familiar. Your brother is dating my cousin.”

All Osamu could do was blink. He only had one brother, and last he heard, he was still in a committed relationship with the tall nutritionist, Sakusa Kiyoomi. “Huh?”

“Yeah,” Komori repeated, nodding eagerly. “My cousin’s Kiyoomi. Or—I guess you might know him as Sakusa. Yeah.”

Oh. Like that, he felt a pinch at his stomach, and he raised his beer to his lips, buying himself time as the information sunk in. Komori Motoya, who—according to his introduction—worked at the same magazine Suna did, happened to be cousins with Sakusa Kiyoomi, the nutritionist Atsumu was so whipped for. It was truly a small world. 

And—it was completely lucky that they didn’t get caught out right away. Osamu didn’t want to envision the trail that would have gone right back to Atsumu. They would have been caught out before they had the chance to begin. Thank _fuck_ Suna had told his friends that they were dating for real.

Beside him, Suna stiffened. He was undoubtedly coming to the same conclusion as Osamu.

“Oh, yeah,” Osamu said in his best attempt to act nonchalant. “I do know him. I’ve only met him once, though.”

“Yeah, I’ve only met your brother a few times, too.”

“That’s a blessing. Don’t worry.”

At that, Komori cackled, and Osamu felt that prickle of unease fade. It was fine. Everything was fine. As they resumed the conversation they were having before Osamu had arrived, the nerves dissipated, and he fell more at peace with the situation. As Suna’s hand came to rest on his knee, he let himself relax.

* * *

“So you and your twin brother…” Hanamaki spread his arms wide, nearly punching Matsukawa in the face. “You’re, like, completely identical.”

It was clear that the alcohol was starting to get to Hanamaki. Actually, it was starting to get to everyone. They had gone through Konoha’s stash and started in on Suna’s collection of hard liquor, though Osamu had resolutely refused to engage further at that point. He did _not_ want to work the stand with a hangover, thank you very much. 

Everyone was a bit tipsy, except for himself and Akaashi. Osamu had enough of a buzz that he no longer fussed over his every word, but he was aware enough that his thoughts and sentences matched up. It was nice. He could enjoy everyone’s company more like this, when he wasn’t stressed over the general havoc being wrecked and he could savor it for what it was: an opportunity to relax after a laborious week at the restaurant. 

“That’s what being an identical twin means, dumbass,” Konoha said from the other end of the table. It was Osamu’s first time meeting Konoha, and he knew exactly three things about him: one, he was a pharmaceutical company employee, two, he played volleyball on a municipal team (and was very good at it), and three, he was a sleepy drunk. His head kept bobbing forward every few seconds before he caught himself again, though his eyelids continued to droop.

“I was just making sure,” Hanamaki said. “I haven’t ever seen his brother before.”

“Here.” Matsukawa handed his phone over, a picture of Atsumu procured. “This is him.”

“Wow.” Hanamaki gaped at the screen, his eyes flitting between Osamu in front of him and Atsumu on the screen. “You really are identical. Just copied and pasted.”

“I object to that,” Osamu mumbled. 

“So how do people tell you apart?” Hanamaki zoomed in on the photo. “Oh, wait, he’s blonde.”

“He’s also an idiot.”

“Hah! I bet he’d say the same thing about you if he was here.” Hanamaki gave the phone back to Matsukawa. “So do you still play volleyball for fun? Or do you just watch it now?”

“Uh, I just watch.” His free time was entirely consumed by his business. It was the exact reason he couldn’t dedicate himself to another person in a serious romantic relationship. He couldn’t carve out the time or space. He had worked too hard to create Onigiri Miya in the first place to do anything that would jeopardize it. “Not much time for playin’ these days.”

“Suna says you were good back in high school,” Matsukawa said. As Hanamaki leaned back into his chest, Matsukawa supported the additional weight without wavering. It looked as though he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol, though Osamu had watched him shotgun a beer for the hell of it. And because Hanamaki had dared him to. 

“Yeah, I mean, I guess.” There had been a lot of discourse surrounding the Miya twins back in high school. They had been considered one of the best sibling duos on a high school level, and Atsumu had been considered for the national stage at some points. Osamu wondered if the same journalists who had kept such a close eye on the two of them ever had another fleeting thought over their nonexistent professional careers. “I was alright.”

“You ever think about playing it again?”

“Not professionally.”

“‘Course not.” Konoha tipped his head up. “There are ways to play volleyball other than being a division one athlete. Sometimes, we’ll rent out a nearby gym and spend a whole evening there until closing time. It’s just for shits and giggles, but it’s always fun. You should come sometime.”

“Oh. Maybe.” 

Truth be told, when Osamu had hung up his knee pads after high school, he had assumed that was it. That was the end of his volleyball career. Sure, he sometimes messed around in the backyard with Atsumu, but even then, it never lasted long because he never wanted Atsumu to get carried away and strain himself. There had been a brief period of time after Atsumu’s injury that he had thought that he should pick up the torch and return to the sport to finish what Atsumu had started. 

But if Atsumu couldn’t play, it felt wrong. He was too used to Atsumu’s reliable sets and his constant presence. He didn’t know how to play volleyball in a world where Atsumu wasn’t at his side. 

“No pressure,” Matsukawa said. “Even if you don’t want to play, you’re welcome to watch.”

“Maybe,” Osamu repeated, because if it was just for shits and giggles, then maybe it would be alright. His love of volleyball hadn’t stopped when his career ended. When he’d chosen another path. 

A burst of laughter from the kitchen caught his attention, and he lifted his head as Suna poked his head out, looking over his shoulder as Komori said something to him. 

“Suna’s pretty good, too,” Hanamaki said with a wink. “He probably could’ve gone pro—if he had had the resources to do so. It’ll be fun.”

It would be fun to see Suna play volleyball. “I’ll think about it.”

Suna ambled over to them, a smile dancing across his lips. Out of all of them, Osamu would say that Suna was one of the furthest gone, though he handled his liquor well. Without warning, he lowered himself to the ground on Osamu’s right and fell into Osamu’s side. 

The sudden move made Osamu’s stomach clench, especially as Suna’s warmth buried against him. He wasn’t like Matsukawa, who had supported Hanamaki without batting an eye. Osamu veered to the left, trying his best to adjust to Suna’s weight and hold them both upright. Regardless, as Suna rested his head against Osamu’s shoulder, his heart started racing. Maybe he’d drunk more than he’d thought.

“You okay, Rin?” Osamu asked, nudging Suna in the side. That was the other thing. Now that they were in the presence of other people, Osamu had to follow through with his promise that he would call Suna ‘Rin.’ What had seemed like a simple request at first felt oddly intimate, especially as his first instinct was to call Suna by his family name. But he supposed it was better that he got used to it now. He had caught himself before blurting out, “Suna,” multiple times tonight alone.

“Mmhmm,” Suna hummed. “‘M okay.”

“Hey, Suna,” Hanamaki cut in. “Have you seen Osamu’s twin brother? You probably have, right?”

“I’ve only met him once,” Suna answered. His hair tickled Osamu’s neck as he spoke. “But, yeah, I already knew who he was ‘cause he’s MSBY’s coach.” There was a pause, and Osamu thought that Suna might have dozed off until he said, “But Osamu’s hotter. Much hotter.”

The compliment alone brought a sharp tug to his gut. He almost jolted, if not for Suna’s weight against him, holding him in place. It was like Hanamaki’s throwaway comment the other day where he’d said that Suna had called him hot all over again. He didn’t know how to process the information.

Sure, he found Suna attractive, but when those sorts of comments were directed towards him—and so openly—he didn’t know what to make of them. It was hard to tell if Suna was saying it for the sake of the charade or whether he actually meant it. Osamu had received many appreciative compliments from customers over the years, though those had been different. There hadn’t been enough of a connection in return for it to drive him haywire. But with Suna’s head against his shoulder, their sides pressed together, his heartbeat pounded through his ears. 

“They’re identical,” Konoha said.

“Not to me,” Suna replied.

Osamu let out a breathy laugh. “You’re gonna have a massive hangover tomorrow. You know that, right?”

“No, I won’t.” Suna’s lower lip jutted out. “I’ll have a glass of water before bed, and I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.”

Osamu wanted to disagree, but as Suna leaned more heavily onto him, he was at a loss for words. The conversation dipped into its inevitable end as Konoha’s head finally tipped over and landed onto the surface of the table. Hanamaki was still awake, though his eyes were shut as Matsukawa ran his hand through Hanamaki’s hair in what looked like a mindless action. Even in the kitchen, the conversation continued at a much lower volume than before, and as the minutes ticked past, Osamu found the lull to be nice. Peaceful. 

“Rin.”

“Hm?”

“Yer gonna fall asleep on me.”

“Is that a problem?” Suna asked. 

_No_ , Osamu thought as Suna nuzzled further into his neck. It was not a problem at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you thought!


	7. Chapter 7

Even though it wasn’t a Black Jackals match he was hired to cater for, the intensity of second division volleyball never disappointed. Osamu had arrived at the gymnasium at his usual time, two hours ahead of the match’s scheduled start, and from then, it had been a frenzy between organizing the display and preparing for the rush of orders. As soon as the doors were opened to the public, Osamu’s attention was completely focused on attending to each customer on the line. 

It was a pleasant surprise to see some familiar faces, and when Akaashi stepped up to order, Osamu greeted him with his usual smile. 

“Hey,” Osamu said. “Good to see ya again.”

“You too, Myaa-sam,” Akaashi murmured, his eyes skimming the display. Out of all of them, Akaashi had drunk the least, and the effects were evident now. Although he still looked tired, it was no more than his usual level of permanent exhaustion, and there was an alertness to his gaze that reassured Osamu that, like him, Akaashi was not suffering from a hangover this morning.

Once he recited his order, Osamu went to work collecting the onigiri and putting it in a takeout bag for Akaashi. “Here ya go,” he said, handing it over.

“Thank you,” Akaashi said before darting off to find his seat in the stands. 

The rest of his time behind the stand went off without a hitch, and his customers left the line content with their takeout bags in hand. The stands were beginning to fill as only a few minutes separated them from the scheduled starting time of the match. The electricity of the crowd was contagious, and even Osamu’s grin widened a smidge more as the lineups were introduced. 

He lost himself in the excitement, so much so that when someone cleared their throat, it startled him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Osamu apologized, adjusting his cap as he lifted his head. “What can I—”

Suna waited in front of him, his eyes bleary with exhaustion as dark shadows lingered beneath them. His slouch was more noticeable than usual, though he maintained his usual air of professionalism, dressed in his ‘PRESS’ shirt with his ID card dangling from his neck. His equipment was nowhere to be seen. Maybe it wasn’t obvious to an outsider, but it was clear to Osamu that Suna was suffering from the exact hangover he’d promised he wouldn’t have. 

It occurred to Osamu a second later that this was the first time Suna had approached him at the Onigiri Miya stand before a match. 

“Hi, Osamu,” Suna said. His voice was scratchier than usual, too, as if he’d woken up an hour ago and hurried himself here. Knowing Suna, that might well be the case. “How are you?”

“I think the better question is how are _you_ ,” Osamu said, beaming. “You look awful, Suna.”

Suna rubbed at his right eye with a fist. “Don’t remind me. Ugh. I should’ve cancelled. Gotten someone else to fill my place.”

“I warned ya not to go overboard.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Suna dropped his arm and jerked his chin over at the display. “Sorry to rush you, but I can’t stay long. I’m supposed to already be down there. Can I have—”

“Here.” 

Osamu passed a takeout bag over the stand to Suna. It was the only one he’d created before the doors had been opened to the public. It wasn’t anything special—just a wide selection of onigiri with different kinds of filling. It had been a week since Suna had started coming into Onigiri Miya for lunch, and since then, he’d tried almost everything on the menu. He’d never expressed an explicit favorite, so Osamu had selected a variety to be on the safe side. 

Because when Suna had told him last week that he never had time to stop by the stand before the match, that had stuck with him. Osamu thought the least he could do was save some for Suna. If Suna hadn’t come here of his own accord, he’d planned on bringing onigiri to him. 

Suna’s eyes bulged as he gripped the paper bag. “Huh?”

“I wasn’t sure if you would have time to stop by before the match, so I was plannin’ on bringin’ you some later,” Osamu said. “I didn’t know what you would like, so there’s a little of everythin’. Hope that’s okay.”

Suna peered inside at the contents, that wide-eyed stare never faltering. “Oh,” he said. “Thank you. That’s...thanks.”

Osamu waved him off. “No problem.” He handed Suna a plastic bag, with something entirely different inside. “This is for you, too. Uh, if ya want it.”

Suna raised an eyebrow.

“For yer _hangover_ ,” Osamu said under his breath. He didn’t want anyone to catch him giving out medication while operating behind his stand. He was pretty sure there was some unspoken rule against that. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh.” Suna tucked the bag into his pocket, out of sight. “Thanks. Shit. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Osamu said, and he meant it. “You should go. I’ll see you later, maybe.”

Suna nodded. “Yeah. I’ll see you.” With one last small smile, he left to join the last of the crowd streaming toward the stands, and his head disappeared amongst the pool of bodies. 

* * *

The Schweiden Adlers were fortunate enough to have the goddess of victory shining down upon them. A tall blonde middle blocker on the Sendai Frogs kept their team in the running for as long as possible, but as the game always worked, someone tipped the scales in their team’s favor—and today, it was the Adlers. As the first group of fans filed out of the gymnasium, the rest lingered in the hopes of snatching an autograph or getting a selfie with their favorite player. 

Osamu, on the other hand, had a very different destination in mind. With the stand all packed up and the leftovers reorganized, he had no other obligations. He aimed for the sea of photographers on the ground level, raising his head above the collection of people in the hopes of spotting Suna. While they hadn’t explicitly arranged to meet up, Osamu hoped he could catch Suna on his way out. At least to say hi. 

But when he finally picked Suna out of the crowd, he wasn’t alone. 

Osamu recognized Akaashi from the back of his head alone, but the other two with him made him pause. They weren’t at Suna’s last night, but there was something about the short guy next to Akaashi that seemed familiar. Before he could get a handle on it, Suna spotted him.

“Osamu!” He gestured for Osamu to come closer. 

Osamu complied, fixing the brim of his cap before striding over. When he did, he could see the faces of the two strangers. The shorter of the two had a startling gaze framed by dark hair that ran down to his shoulders, though upon further examination, Osamu realized the tips were blonde. It wasn’t until that stare was turned upon him that Osamu remembered where he’d seen him before.

“Oh,” Osamu blurted out before he could stop himself. “I’ve seen ya before. You’ve bought my onigiri, too.”

“Oh. Yeah.” His voice was softer than Osamu expected. “I have. Your onigiri’s good.”

“Thanks,” Osamu said, because no matter how many times people told him that, he never got tired of it. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever caught yer name…”

“This is Kenma,” Suna said, stepping in to make the introductions. He waved a hand at the other unfamiliar figure of the group, and Osamu knew for certain that he did not recognize this man. “This is Kuroo Tetsurou. He works in the sports promotion division of the Japan Volleyball Association.”

Oh. That was important. Osamu wasn’t as involved in the volleyball world as Atsumu, but he picked things up. Bits and pieces of stray conversations stuck around, and he recalled Atsumu mentioning this association several times during his coaching career. 

Kuroo looked important for sure. In an impressive three piece suit and a striped tie, Osamu felt underdressed in comparison. There was a taunting smirk curling his lips, even though Osamu had yet to say anything, and he wondered if this was a permanent feature to Kuroo’s face, frozen there for all eternity. It would have been better if he wasn’t tall. But no, of course this guy also had to be taller than even Suna. He almost drowned Kenma out as he stood at his side. 

“Miya Osamu,” Kuroo said with a polite nod, though its effect was nullified by the fact that he was still smirking. “It’s nice to meet you. I didn’t know Atsumu-san had a twin brother.”

“Yeah. Well.” Osamu shrugged. He never knew how to respond to sentences like that. What was he meant to say? _I’m glad my existence is so unimportant_. “Nice to meetcha, too.”

“Kuroo-san is our connection,” Akaashi said, directly to Osamu. “He gets us free tickets to all of these games. It’s great.”

Kenma nodded along in agreement. “It makes our friendship very worthwhile.”

“Fantastic.” Kuroo scowled, that smirk dropping for the first time since Osamu had joined the conversation. “It’s great to know you guys keep me around because you _enjoy_ my company.”

“Sure.” Kenma shrugged. “But also the free tickets.” 

Kuroo went to grab ahold of Kenma’s head in a threatening manner, but at the last second, he slowed and patted his hair in a tender gesture for what had looked intimidating to begin with. Kenma, to his credit, hardly seemed to notice. If anything, it looked like he relaxed under the weight of Kuroo’s palm. 

“Loser,” Kuroo mumbled, the amount of fondness in his voice betraying him.

When Kuroo released his grip on Kenma’s head, Kenma redirected his attention to Osamu, looking between him and Suna, and the pressure of his gaze reminded Osamu of the warning Suna had given him last night— _Kenma is, like, the ultimate test. He’s super observant, so if anyone were to figure us out, it would be him._

Osamu stiffened, his hand twitching at his side. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to do something to prove himself or if he was meant to stay still, but his unease made him feel like he had to do _something._ He inched closer to Suna. 

“As you can see,” Suna said, “as intimidating as Kuroo appears, he’s a loser at heart.”

Akaashi let out a low chuckle, and Kenma smiled at Suna’s comment. Kuroo, however, scowled again. 

“You’re on thin ice, Suna,” he warned. “I didn’t come over here to be mocked.” His head whipped over to Osamu. “You don’t want your boyfriend to see how much of a menace you are.”

“Osamu already knows that I’m a menace.” Suna jabbed Osamu with his elbow. “He loves me, anyway.”

Osamu tried his best to smoothen out his features, even as his jaw ticked at Suna’s last sentence. He couldn’t give himself away, and with the weight of Kenma’s stare, he was sweating bullets. He offered a small smile that came across more like a grimace. “Yeah, all Rin does is stir shit up.”

Suna splayed a hand over his heart. “Ouch.”

Akaashi glanced down at the face of his wristwatch. “Oops. Is that the time? I really do have to get going.” 

“I have to go, too,” Kenma said. “I said I would stream this afternoon.” He leveled a look at Osamu. “It was nice to meet you, Osamu-san.”

His mouth felt dry as he said, “You, too.”

As Akaashi and Kenma disappeared up the steps, his chest loosened. Even if their conversation had lasted only a few minutes, the anxiety wrapped around it wondering if Kenma would notice—even if there was nothing _to_ notice—had been debilitating. Kuroo was the more outwardly intimidating one of the two, but Kenma had an eerie quality to him, as if he knew far more about the world than he was willing to admit. It reminded him of Kita, his old volleyball captain, but Kita had been terrifying in other ways. 

“Well,” Kuroo said. “I should get going, too.” He flashed that smirk again. “It was nice meeting you. Suna rarely ever dates. No one can put up with his antics long enough to get to know him.”

Suna scowled, and the shift from being unbothered to annoyed surprised Osamu. He hadn’t ever seen Suna get annoyed at anything. He had been convinced nothing could ruffle Suna, because he was simply the kind of person who didn’t care enough to let minor things bother him. He was the exact opposite of Atsumu, who let people dig beneath his skin too easily. Yet, somehow, Kuroo had hit a nerve.

“Shut up, Kuroo.”

“What? It’s true. I’m just being honest.”

“No, you’re being annoying.” Suna waved him off. “Get going. I want to talk to Osamu alone.”

“Touchy.” Kuroo held up his hands in faux surrender. “I get it. I’ll leave. As I said before, nice meeting you.”

Osamu managed to say, “You, too,” before Kuroo headed off.

Meanwhile, Suna stood staring after him, his expression pinched.

“You okay, Suna?”

Suna faced him. “Yeah. I’m fine. Why?”

Osamu shrugged. “I dunno. You seemed bothered.”

“I’m not,” Suna said, bending down to pick up his pouch with his camera and the rest of his equipment. “Believe me. Anyway, the good news is that I don’t think Kenma noticed anything.”

“We only spoke for a few minutes.”

“Yeah, but trust me, Kenma figures things out.” Suna snapped his fingers. “Like that.”

“Oh.” Maybe he should have counted it as a bigger victory than it looked at first glance. “Okay.”

“Thanks for the onigiri. Again.” Suna’s lip quirked up. It was rare for Suna to ever flash a full smile, but this was one of those times where he came close to it. It was like he stood on the precipice of letting himself go completely. “It was delicious. As usual.”

“You’re welcome.”

As Suna started to move along, Osamu kept pace with him. With everything all packed, he figured the least he could do was walk him out of the gymnasium. That was the courteous thing to do. 

“And thanks for the meds,” Suna added. “You really are a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, well.” Osamu kicked at the ground. “It’s my way of saying _I told you so._ ”

Suna chuckled under his breath. “I knew that was coming.”

“I did warn ya.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He looked sideways at Osamu. “By the way, have you already bought the train tickets? Or should I do that myself? I keep forgetting to ask.”

That was a good reminder. Osamu had told himself countless times to book his train ticket, and somehow, the task kept being put off in the back of his mind. Now, he had to think about purchasing an extra ticket for Suna, too. The prices were only going to climb the longer he put it off. 

“I’ll ask Tsumu,” Osamu said, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I’ll coordinate with him. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

* * *

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hey loser
> 
> nice win
> 
> let me know when you’re back in osaka
> 
> we need to talk
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> nah don’t feel like it
> 
> bring me dinner and i’ll reconsider
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i just want to know what train you’re booking
> 
> so i can make sure suna and i are NOT on the same one as you
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> oh
> 
> i haven’t booked our tickets yet
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> shit
> 
> are you back in osaka
> 
> i’m coming over
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> yes
> 
> bring dinner
> 
> i’m hungry :(
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> no

* * *

Osamu showed up on Atsumu’s doorstep an hour later with a takeout bag of curry. He knocked on the door twice, waited for twenty seconds, and then knocked on it _again_ when it became apparent that Atsumu wasn’t coming. 

After a full minute, the door swung open, and Atsumu revealed himself on the other side. His hair was ruffled and fluffy, likely the result of a late shower after returning home, and he had swapped his tracksuit for another set of comfortable sweatpants and a bright yellow T-shirt that looked like it came out of Sakusa’s wardrobe. He rubbed at his eye with a closed first as he stepped out of the way and ushered Osamu inside. 

“Took you long enough,” Osamu grumbled. He didn’t wait for Atsumu to lead the way into the kitchen. He set down the plastic bag onto the counter and got to work taking out the individual orders for the two of them. “When didja get back?”

“Two hours ago,” Atsumu answered. He hovered around Osamu, his interest piqued at the sight of warm food, even as he made no effort to help set up the table to speed up the process. He sniffed the air. “That looks delicious.”

“Then grab somethin’ for us to drink so we can eat.” Osamu pulled out several pairs of disposable chopsticks. “Hurry up.”

Atsumu complied faster than he ever agreed to one of Osamu’s suggestions, and within a minute, the two were seated at Atsumu’s table, devouring their individual curry orders. It was a waste to start a conversation before either of them finished eating, especially since Atsumu had a habit of eating with his mouth full and Osamu didn’t care enough about anything Atsumu had to say to sacrifice good food for the sake of listening to him _talk._

By the time they both finished, their plastic tins discarded and their stomachs full and content, Osamu felt like he could fall over and take a long nap. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, considering he’d spent a good portion of the evening over at Suna’s, and the effects of that were setting in. Even though Atsumu hadn’t traveled far, the stress of away games took their toll, and he looked drowsier than usual, too, letting out a quick yawn. 

“So,” Osamu said, tapping his nails against the table. “Train tickets.”

“Right.” Atsumu stood up on shaky legs and went to his bedroom to retrieve his laptop. “What time were you thinkin’ of goin’?” 

“I’m not workin’ Friday.” It was an unexpected sacrifice for him to make, but he’d talked himself into taking another day off. The restaurant was in Ginjima’s hands, at least for that one day. He trusted Ginjima. He could manage it in Osamu’s absence. It was more so that Osamu had grown accustomed to always working, and he didn’t know what to do with himself if he wasn’t behind the counter of Onigiri Miya. “So I was thinkin’ of leavin’ early in the mornin’.”

“You’re not workin’?” Atsumu poked his head back into the living room, his laptop tucked under his arm. When Osamu nodded, he said, “That’s a shock.”

“Shut yer trap. Are you free Friday morning?”

“Yup.” Atsumu took the spot on the floor next to Osamu, more for convenience’s sake so that they could both see the screen. He flipped open his laptop. “That works for me. What about Suna? Or is yer boyfriend not comin’?”

“He’s comin’,” Osamu said. “He said he can do Friday mornin’ when I asked him earlier today. If that works, we might as well book all of them.”

Atsumu let out another obnoxious yawn. “Sure.” He typed in the password to his computer, and once he was logged in, he searched up the available train schedule. “Let’s do that. Unless you wanna be on a different train. You know. ‘Cause you’re an ass.”

“I was _jokin’_ ,” Osamu said. “It was a _joke._ ”

“It’s not a joke if ya _mean it._ ”

“Whatever.” Osamu pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can pay on yer card. I’ll pay you back for Rin’s and mine.”

“Ugh.” Osamu could see the gears turning in Atsumu’s head as he weighed the possibilities and other options. What he really wanted was to be able to get Osamu to pay for all four tickets and then conveniently forget to refund Osamu for two—which was exactly why Osamu had made his suggestion first. “Fine.”

As Atsumu selected one of the earliest trains on Friday morning, typing in his credit card details, Osamu tried to come to terms with the fact that this was actually happening. He was bringing Suna to Hyogo to be his fake boyfriend—just so he didn’t get caught out in his petty lie. This wasn’t only a simple charade to keep up in front of Suna’s friends; he was about to keep up this lie in front of his family. He had no qualms against lying to Atsumu, but if either of his parents found out, their shared disappointment would be enough to make him want to shrivel up and _die._

This was ridiculous. This was stupid and ridiculous, and Gin was right—even if Osamu didn’t want to admit it. It would have been better for him to admit to it right off the bat instead of dragging Suna further in. But no, he saw no possible way of untangling this mess without it exploding in his face. 

“How is Suna?” Atsumu asked while he clicked through all of the confirmation details, barely skimming the information. 

“He’s good,” Osamu said once he’d cleared his throat. “I saw him yesterday at the match. We spent time together over the weekend.”

“Oh, yeah?” There was an undeniable, passive-aggressive edge to the seemingly innocent remark. “That’s nice.”

“Mmm,” Osamu hummed. “How’s Sakusa-kun?”

“Omi-kun’s great.” Atsumu clicked the final confirmation button with more force than was needed. “He’s fantastic. Do you want me to forward the receipt to you?”

“Yes, please.” Osamu fished his phone out of his pocket. He could at least send it to Suna to ensure complete transparency. “You know my email, right?”

Atsumu grumbled under his breath, which Osamu took as a yes. Sure enough, within seconds, the receipt appeared in his inbox. He forwarded it to Suna with a simple explanation. 

“So this is it,” Atsumu said, shutting his laptop with a definitive click. “No backin’ out now. I hope you’ve properly prepared Sunarin. Mama’s gonna be all over him.”

Osamu tried to hold back his grimace. While he knew that Suna could handle Atsumu’s massive ego, it wasn’t anything like withstanding hours of being gushed over by their mother. He would have to mention it to Suna as soon as possible. “She’ll be gushin’ over Sakusa-kun, too.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

“Rin will be fine, too.”

“Oh, it’s Rin now, is it?”

“It’s always been Rin.” Osamu said this more defensively than he would’ve liked while his brain went through all of his previous mentions of Suna to Atsumu. He couldn’t recall whether he’d ever referred to Suna with his family name—even if he did it all the time when they were alone. “Anyway, is that it?”

“Why? Is _Rin_ waitin’ for ya at home?”

“What? No. I’m just tired.”

“You know, you’re allowed to spend time with me,” Atsumu said scatchingly, and the note of accusation in it was enough to make Osamu pause. “You don’t have to say all the time that you have better things to do.”

Osamu opened his mouth to object to that, but clamped it shut a second later. He and Atsumu saw each other all the time. Hell, he was sure they saw each other more than most people saw their siblings on a weekly basis. Atsumu lived only a few minutes away from his apartment.

Despite their packed schedules, they still carved time out of their days to see each other. Though now that Osamu thought about it more, most of their interactions were instigated by Atsumu. He was the first to send a text message checking in. He was the first to walk up to Osamu after a match. He was the first to stop by during Osamu’s lunch break, even if it was mostly to pester him. Huh. Maybe Osamu was worse at reaching out than he thought. 

“Okay, fine,” Osamu said, resigning himself to the fact that he would be crashing on Atsumu’s couch tonight rather than his comfortable bed. “Do you wanna watch yer match from yesterday then?”

“No. I’ve already seen it twice.”

“The Tamaden Elephants played against Yotsuya Motor Spirits on Friday. Have ya seen that?”

Atsumu crossed his arms over his chest. “No,” he admitted.

“Okay. Let’s watch that.” Osamu rose to his feet to clean up the table. With all of their trash and plastic tins scattered over the surface, he wouldn’t be able to focus on the match otherwise. “Didja record it?”

“Yes.” Atsumu reached for the TV remote.

When Osamu returned from the kitchen, Atsumu was lounged across the couch, his arm outstretched towards the screen, remote in hand as he pulled up the recording of the match. His legs took up the entirety of the cushions, and Osamu made a face before forcefully yanking his legs up to make room for himself.

“Hey!” Atsumu cried out, one of his legs aiming to kick Osamu in the stomach.

“Make room,” Osamu ordered. “Don’t be a dick.”

With more pointed grumbling, Atsumu pulled his legs up enough for Osamu to have space to sit back against the cushions, and as Atsumu clicked a button on the remote to restart the recording, he let himself relax with the background noise of cheers from the crowd, the consistent smacks of palms against rubber, and Atsumu’s dispersed commentary. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you thought!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're past the halfway point now!

“If ya wanna back out, now’s the time,” Osamu said late into Wednesday afternoon. 

As Friday loomed closer, the test that lay ahead became all the more pertinent. Still, Suna didn’t appear fazed by it. Like clockwork, he showed up during his lunch breaks and forced Osamu to sit with him. Their conversations had progressed from factual interrogations to more casual discussions akin to the ones actual friends had. It was strange. Somewhere along the way, he and Suna had become friends. It was a jarring thought, and it slapped him in the face at the most inopportune of times. 

Right now was a perfectly good example.

Apparently, their friendship had been cemented enough that Suna had walked right up to Osamu when he’d arrived and said, “Your Instagram page for Onigiri Miya is shit. The pictures look like they were taken by a five-year-old, and you haven’t updated it in months.” 

After Osamu had stopped gaping, he’d given Suna free reins to vamp it up however he’d like. It made sense to trust the judgement of a professional photographer. But in hindsight, he should have known better than to trust _Suna’s_ judgement. Because at this very moment, Suna was pressed against his back, his camera propped over Osamu’s shoulder in an attempt to capture the perfect angle and lighting while Osamu molded rice together. No matter how many times Osamu had tried shrugging Suna off, muttering that he was working, Suna came right back with the excuse that he was simply doing his job. 

Ginjima watched it all with no small amount of amusement. He laughed every so often whenever Osamu tried elbowing Suna away again, but at Osamu’s remark, he sobered up. “Oh, that’s this weekend. I nearly forgot.”

Osamu shot an accusatory look in Ginjima’s direction. “Wadaya mean you forgot? You told me I could take Friday off.”

“‘Course!” Ginjima scratched the nape of his neck. “You can! It just slipped my mind.” He dropped his arm. “Isn’t it kinda late for Suna to drop out?”

“Mmhmm,” Suna hummed. He leaned closer, his breath fanning Osamu’s neck, and a second later, the shutter sounded in Osamu’s ear. “I’m not backing out now. It would be a waste. I already paid for my ticket, anyway.”

“You haven’t paid shit,” Osamu said. He had refused to let Suna do so. If he was going to drag Suna into this mess, there was no way he was letting Suna pay for his own expenses. “You’re allowed to back out if you’d like.”

“No, thanks,” Suna said, as resolute as Osamu had ever heard him. His hair tickled against Osamu’s neck as he leaned closer, and Osamu almost crushed the onigiri between his hands by accident. “I have to see how this turns out.”

“I almost wish I could be there, too,” Ginjima remarked. “It’s gonna be nuts.” His gaze flicked over to Suna. “You think Atsumu’s bad now? Wait until you see him and Osamu together for longer than a few minutes. It’s irritatin’ as hell watchin’ them constantly rile each other up. It’s gonna be worse this time around ‘cause now they’re competin’ for who has the better boyfriend.”

“Well, it’s obviously me.”

“Suna, Tsumu’s boyfriend is kinda terrifyin’. And a little weird.”

“I’m terrifying. And a little weird.”

“He’s taller than you.”

“Osamu.” Suna nudged him in the small of his back. “Do you not think I can compete with the nutritionist? I can compete. I’m offended that you would think otherwise.”

Osamu sighed. “Are you almost done?”

“One more,” Suna said, even though it was the tenth time he’d said that in the last half hour. He reached over Osamu again, his arms braced against Osamu’s shoulders, and the shutter went off. 

As he peeled away to inspect his work, for a moment, Osamu mourned the loss of Suna’s warmth against him. The thought was so disorienting that he did crush the onigiri in his hands, the rice falling apart in front of him. Ginjima shot him an odd look. 

“Should I post a picture of Osamu on the Instagram page?” Suna asked as he switched through all of the photographs that had been taken today. “I think it would look nice.”

“Which photo were ya thinkin’?” Ginjima asked. 

“This one.” Suna presented his camera screen to Ginjima, though his hands never left it. Osamu looked back over at them. 

“Ooh,” Ginjima said. “His shoulders look great there. He actually looks decent.”

“I know, right?”

“Okay.” Osamu narrowed his gaze. “What is goin’ on? Why are you both oglin’ my shoulders?”

“Well,” Suna said with a shrug and a devious smile to match, “we have to draw customers in somehow.”

“We, huh?”

“Yes, we. As your fake boyfriend, I now have partial ownership of Onigiri Miya. This is _our_ restaurant.”

“Suna, you can’t even cook macaroni and cheese.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was called _Macaroni Miya_ —”

Ginjima cackled again. He braced his hands on his hips and shook his head in a light-hearted manner. “I would love to be a fly on the wall in yer house this weekend, Osamu. This is only a taste of what it’ll be like. An appetizer, if you will. You better text me updates.”

“I’m sure Tsumu will text you all about it,” Osamu said with a huff. It wasn’t like Ginjima played favorites, but Atsumu had a habit of complaining to Ginjima whenever Osamu did something he didn’t like—mostly because Ginjima was the only one willing to tolerate his excessive messages. 

“No worries, Gin.” Suna set his camera down on the counter, far away from any of the ingredients or supplies as Osamu worked. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“You don’t have Gin’s number,” Osamu pointed out.

Suna raised an eyebrow, and the very motion was taunting. “Of course I have Gin’s number,” he said. “Gin and I are best friends by default since I’m your fake boyfriend.”

Suna held up his hand for a high-five, and Osamu was even more appalled when Ginjima returned it without batting an eye. 

“It’s true,” Ginjima said, all casual. “Suna and I text regularly.”

“Huh?”

“What? Am I not allowed to be friends with yer fake boyfriend?”

“Uh, you can.” Osamu looked between them, trying to fathom when _that_ had happened. He’d seen Suna talking to Ginjima multiple times over the past few weeks, but he’d never imagined that Suna had already wormed his way into his life that much. There was such a huge difference from Gin being unnerved by Suna upon his first introduction to how comfortable the two seemed around each other now. “I just—uh.”

Ginjima leveled him with a look before returning his attention to Suna. “I’m serious, Suna. Text me updates. I want you to stress Atsumu out.”

“I look forward to it,” Suna said, leaning back against the counter. His smile warned of terrible things to come, and Osamu was glad that Suna was on his side. “I will make sure it happens.”

“Perfect.” Ginjima started rearranging all of the clean dishes that had been recently washed. “For the record, this is completely stupid. But I think you might be able to pull it off. You two look good together.”

A shiver raced down Osamu’s spine. His head snapped towards Ginjima, but Ginjima pointedly ignored him in favor of placing all of the dried glasses on a tray to be able to take out to the seating area. He couldn’t decipher whether the comment was supposed to be serious or not, but it sent Osamu into overdrive regardless. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Suna, who had picked up his camera again and started flicking through all of the pictures. He didn’t give off a noticeable reaction, which meant that Osamu’s overthinking was all in his head—as usual. He’d let Ginjima push him into a downwards spiral. 

But secretly, Osamu thought Gin was right. 

* * *

Osamu had many regrets. 

For one, he regretted that he had been caught sneaking in extra practice after school when Atsumu had started dual-wielding, simply because he’d been annoyed that Atsumu was beating him in service aces overall. He regretted that he had lied about being in a relationship and had been forced to drag Suna into his mess in order to save face. And most of all, he regretted that he was awake now at the ass crack of dawn to catch an early train back to Hyogo. 

The sun was barely looming above, its warmth radiating slowly and easily, and Osamu dug his hands further into the pockets of his sweatshirt as another sharp breeze floated through the air. The train station was still bustling and busy, even if everyone moved at a slower pace than they would have if it were later in the day, and snippets of conversations provided nice background noise as they waited for their train. The metalwork inside made for a nice visual during their wait, but Osamu was far too sleep-deprived to appreciate it properly.

His backpack hung from his shoulders, filled with enough toiletries and clothes to last him a few days, even if he had enough at his parents’ house to get through the weekend. In his left hand, he held a steaming plastic cup of coffee, and he hoped the pull of caffeine would be enough to wake his senses. Even then, his eyes felt heavy, and all he wanted was to hop on the train in the hopes of crashing for a bit. 

Beside him, Suna let out another loud yawn—his third in the last ten minutes. If Osamu was tired, then Suna had to be _exhausted._ Osamu wondered if Suna had had to make another crazy deadline last night in order to be able to get this weekend off, and again, he felt a pang of sympathy that Suna had gotten tangled up in this mess. When he’d shown up on Suna’s doorstep this morning, the sight of Suna all drowsy and sleepy was almost enough to make him call the whole thing off—and made his heart clench a bit.

“I’m sorry,” Osamu said again, the third time in the last ten minutes as well. He couldn’t help it. Every time he caught a glimpse of how exhausted Suna was, the guilt crept in and wouldn’t let go. 

“I told you to stop saying that,” Suna said. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” He held out a hand in an unspoken question, and Osamu handed his coffee over to let Suna have a sip. He’d bought Suna one, too, but Suna had drained his within seconds. 

“You don’t seem fine.”

“It’s _fine._ ”

“Mmm.”

Osamu took out his phone and opened up his messages with Atsumu.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> where tf are you
> 
> the train is going to be here soon
> 
> i swear to FUCK if you miss it i will k-word you
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> we’re almost there i swear
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i will K-WORD you
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> omi-kun promises that we’ll make it
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> why are you late anyway
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> let’s not talk about it
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> you overslept
> 
> didn’t you
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> I SAID LET’S NOT TALK ABOUT IT

“Here.”

Osamu dragged himself away from the irksome conversation to find Suna holding out the coffee cup. “Oh, thanks,” Osamu said. As soon as he grabbed ahold of it, he could tell it was far too light for Suna to have only taken a few sips. “Wow. You’re so generous.”

Suna grunted. “Sorry. I’ll buy you another when we get to Hyogo.”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Osamu quickly made it through the last of his drink before dropping the cup in a nearby trashcan and returning back to Suna’s side. He glanced at the time on his phone again. “I’m gonna kill him,” he said.

“He’ll make it,” Suna said. “He’s got time.”

“Not that much.”

But Suna wasn’t looking at Osamu anymore. His attention was elsewhere, fixated on some spot at the end of the platform, and he pointed a finger ahead. “Oh, look, here they come.” A pause. “Shit, he _is_ tall.”

Osamu followed Suna’s line of sight. Atsumu hobbled ahead of Sakusa, his backpack dangling from one shoulder, his chest heaving as he hurried over to where they were. Evidently, he had been mildly concerned that they wouldn’t make the train—or else he wouldn’t have run. Sakusa walked behind him at a much leisurely pace, but judging by the way his hair was disheveled, he had run some distance as well. 

Both of them looked a little worse for wear, but to their credit, they appeared more alert than Osamu or Suna. Osamu put that down to their crazy schedule with MSBY, forcing them to wake up at extreme hours for morning practice or actual matches. As soon as they reached them, Osamu had to resist the urge to slap Atsumu around the back of the head.

“I cannot believe you,” Osamu said through gritted teeth. “How are you _this_ late?”

Instead of answering, Atsumu braced his hands on his knees and squatted in a desperate attempt to catch his breath. Sakusa caught up with him and rested a hand against Atsumu’s back, as if to reassure himself that Atsumu wasn’t on the verge of collapsing. 

“There was some traffic,” Sakusa said. Today, he wore a white mask that covered the lower half of his face, and he was dressed in a comfortable pair of sweatpants for the train journey. 

“Yeah, and I’m sure yer bed was real comfortable this morning, wasn’t it, Tsumu?”

“Shut yer trap,” Atsumu wheezed. “At least we made it on time.”

“Barely.”

Sakusa dropped his arm, and Osamu picked up the exact moment when he noticed Suna wavering at Osamu’s side. Sakusa’s brows flicked up for a moment before he gave Suna a polite nod.

“Hello,” he greeted.

Instead of replying like a normal human, Suna yawned— _a_ _gain_ —and did a sloppy salute. “Good morning.”

“Sakusa-kun,” Osamu said, taking charge of introductions while Atsumu tried his best to recover, “this is Suna Rintarou. My boyfriend.”

“Just Sakusa is fine,” Sakusa said. He nodded again at Suna. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” Suna said. “You can call me Suna.”

“Sunarin,” Atsumu said, his voice hoarse. He straightened at last, pushing his hands against his spine as if he needed to crack his back, and he shot Suna a cheeky grin. It didn’t have much of an effect, considering Osamu and Suna had watched Atsumu on the verge of passing out after running to catch a train—which was plain embarrassing since Atsumu was a professional coach. How were any of his players meant to take him seriously? “Wasn’t sure you were gonna show up.”

Suna raised one eyebrow. “Says the guy who just sprinted through a public station because he almost missed his train.”

That grin fell, and Osamu resisted the urge to crack a smile of his own. Any apprehension he felt over how this weekend would go lessened into a faint hum. Ginjima was right. They might be able to pull it off. 

Before Atsumu could respond, a sharp whistle pierced the air, and the train hustled onto the track to their left. Suna moved first to climb onto the car, waiting until the doors slid open before leaping inside, bypassing the other passengers. Osamu kept close to Suna. He no longer had any obligations to watch over Atsumu; that was Sakusa’s job now. Instead, Osamu filed into a two-seater with Suna. 

It took a little effort for them to squeeze in, as Suna’s legs were longer than Osamu’s, and their knees bumped into each other’s, but they managed to make it work somehow. Osamu was acutely aware of the distance between their shoulders, Suna’s body heat radiating onto him as he watched all of the other passengers find their seats. 

A few seconds later, Atsumu took the seat to their right, Sakusa following behind him. 

“I’m going to sleep,” Suna mumbled. He yanked up the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. “Can you wake me up when we’re there?”

“Sure.” 

That was all Suna needed to hear before his head dropped onto Osamu’s shoulder, and Osamu forced himself to keep still. If he thought that Suna leaning on him last weekend was bad, this was somehow worse. Because this time, Suna was completely aware of what he was doing. And he did it anyway. 

Osamu steadied his breath and fished out his phone. He could at least look at his messages before losing himself in that new TV show he’d started two days ago. 

He was surprised to find a new message from Atsumu. 

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> unluckyyyyy
> 
> _Miya Atsumu has sent a photo._

Osamu hesitated for a second before opening it. Atsumu had snapped a sneaky picture of the two of them a few seconds ago. It wasn’t an incriminating photograph by any means, but it did look awfully...intimate. Suna’s face was barely visible through the hole in his hood, his nose poking out, and Osamu looked—relaxed. It was strange, to say the least. Even with Suna’s weight resting upon him, Osamu didn’t appear fazed at all by it. 

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> shut up
> 
> do not bother me until we reach our stop
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> no promises :P

* * *

Suna stirred before they reached their stop, and he spent the last chunk of time editing photos on his laptop. It took Osamu an embarrassing amount of time before he realized that these were the pictures Suna had taken on Wednesday: the ones he was editing for Onigiri Miya’s social media. 

“Gin said this picture of you works,” Suna said, flashing the screen in order to get Osamu’s approval. “Do you like it or not?”

Osamu squinted. It wasn’t a bad picture. He hadn’t been aware that the camera was on him, his attention diverted elsewhere as he responded to a customer over the counter and handed them their takeout order. His smile was his pleasant one reserved for customers, and for a candid, it wasn’t the worst he’d seen. 

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s fine.”

“Or what about this one?” Suna switched to the next, and this time, Osamu scowled. This had been taken after a solid two hours of Suna following him around, and he’d been annoyed with the constant sounds of the shutter and the flash of the camera. He had even glowered at the camera, and the direct eye contact he made through the screen was almost chilling. 

“I look like I’m about to kill you.”

“Yeah.” Suna chuckled under his breath, careful to stay quiet to avoid waking any of the other passengers. “That’s why it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?” This voice came from the other side of the car, and Osamu and Suna both looked over to find Atsumu crawling over Sakusa’s lap to sneak a peek. Meanwhile, Sakusa looked up at the ceiling, as if wondering what god had cursed him to this fate and wondering if they would grant him some mercy. “Can I see?”

“No,” Osamu said at the same time Suna said, “Sure.”

Osamu shot Suna a look of betrayal, but all Suna did was shrug before showcasing the laptop screen. As Atsumu cackled, Osamu wished he could melt into the floor.

“You look so mad, Samu.”

“Shut up.”

“I think he looks cute,” Suna commented, turning the laptop screen back towards him, and that shut Atsumu up.

Okay. Osamu supposed he could forgive Suna’s betrayal. He should have been used to Suna’s need to stir shit up, but even now, it continued to surprise him.

The announcement for the next stop rang overhead, and it took Osamu a second to realize that it was their stop. Time had somehow passed at an agonizingly slow pace and all too quickly at once, and he shuffled sideways out of the seat. Suna tucked his laptop back into his backpack and climbed out after Osamu.

“Off,” Sakusa said, nudging Atsumu until he could stand. 

Their ragtag group all waited by the doors of the car until the train began to slow, and when it came to a complete stop, the doors budged open. Suna got out first, just as he’d been the first to get on in the first place, but he paused a foot away when he came to the realization that he was unfamiliar with this train station and had no idea where he was going. 

“That way, Rin,” Osamu said, pointing towards one of the exits.

“Oh. Okay.” A beat passed. “You still want that coffee?”

His first instinct was to say, “No,” out of politeness, but as he thought about it more, another cup of coffee sounded appetizing. “Sure,” he said instead.

“Okay,” Suna said. “I’ll go get it.” 

Before Osamu could offer him cash or point out where the stands were, Suna fell into the flow of the crowd and disappeared. 

“Hey, Omi-kun,” Atsumu said, bumping Sakusa with his elbow. “You wanna get me a coffee, too?”

Sakusa regarded Atsumu with a distasteful look, and Osamu was reminded of his initial impression of Sakusa—that anyone as particular as him would not mesh well with Atsumu. But a second later, that look vanished, and he emitted a soft sigh before handing off his bag to Atsumu. “What would you like?”

Atsumu blinked, as though recovering from the shock of Sakusa agreeing. “Surprise me,” he said at last. 

When Sakusa went after Suna, the twins were left alone. They fell into an awkward silence while waiting for Suna and Sakusa to return, and Osamu hoped that Suna wouldn’t pester Sakusa _too_ much. Sakusa didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d respond well to teasing. 

“Didja text Mama?” Atsumu broke the silence. 

“Mmhmm,” Osamu hummed. He had done so a half hour ago while on the train. Her response had been instantaneous. “She’s waitin’ for us at home. We still have to catch another bus before then, though.”

Atsumu nodded in agreement. “Yeah. I gotta pee.”

“Then what are you waitin’ for? Go pee now, so we don’t have to wait for yer dumb ass.”

“I’m waitin’ for Omi-kun.” Atsumu squinted to see if he could spot any sign of his return over the numerous heads wandering about the station. “I want my coffee.”

“I’m sure Sakusa will hold it for ya while you pee. Go.”

“I don’t wanna leave his stuff here alone.”

“Bitch. Am I invisible? I’ll watch it.” Osamu held out a hand for Sakusa’s backpack, and as Atsumu gave him the strap, he regarded Osamu with a wary look.

“I mean it, Samu,” Atsumu warned. “Watch it. He’ll get mad if you don’t.”

“I _said_ I would. Now go.”

Atsumu’s bladder must have been at its limit, because as soon as Osamu gave him full permission to go, Atsumu whipped off his own backpack, dropped it onto the floor, and darted off towards the nearest restroom. Sure enough, Suna and Sakusa returned a few minutes after he left, ambling back at an easy pace, and with two cups of coffee each. 

“Where’s Atsumu?” Sakusa demanded. 

Osamu held out a hand for his coffee. He was delighted to find it was still piping hot as he raised it to his lips. “Bathroom,” he answered after his first gulp. “Couldn’t hold it anymore.”

“Sounds about right.” Sakusa sighed. His eyes flitted over to his backpack in Osamu’s tight grip, and he looked like he wanted to ask for it back just so Osamu didn’t have to hold it any longer, but with his hands full, it was impossible.

“Don’t worry about it,” Osamu said. “I’d rather hold this for a little longer than risk you spillin’.”

“Thanks.” His shoulders relaxed, and he took a long sip of his own coffee.

In front of Osamu, Suna was mostly quiet as he drained his new cup of coffee as quickly as he did the other one. It was like the heat of the liquid didn’t bother him, and if he was burning his tongue, he didn’t seem to mind. When Atsumu returned, beaming when he noticed Sakusa was back with his coffee, Suna had finished his second cup of the day. 

“Jeez, Rin,” Osamu said. He offered his own coffee when Suna came back from throwing out the plastic cup—in case Suna wanted more. 

Suna didn’t bother taking the cup from Osamu. He brought his lips to the rim and slurped at the coffee swimming at the surface, and when he pulled his mouth back, he smacked his lips. “Thanks. That’s good.”

“Okay.” Osamu fished his phone out of his pocket with shaky hands as he tried not to spill the rest of his coffee all over himself. He brought up the bus schedule that he’d searched up last night. “The next bus is in twenty minutes.”

Sakusa was the only one to acknowledge him with a nod.

Osamu tried not to sigh. As Atsumu occupied himself with his coffee and Suna fell into a daze, it was up to him to guide their group back home. Sakusa might be the only semi-responsible person here, but he wasn’t familiar with the area to be of any use. 

Osamu double-checked the bus times on his screen. “Okay. Let’s go.” He jostled his shoulders and tightened the straps of his backpack. “This way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you thought!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realized that i've never mentioned that this fic is titled after the florence + the machine song so [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G82zUAvNa7s)

It wasn’t often that Osamu managed to make the return home to Hyogo since moving out to Osaka with Atsumu, but every time he did, it was like no time had passed at all. After the long morning they had switching between trains and buses, the stress of travel was getting to him, and the sight of their family home ahead made him loosen a sigh of relief.

Atsumu led the way, a bounce in his step as he ran up to the front door. Osamu noticed how Sakusa and Suna had started to hang back, the first signs of uncertainty that either of them had shown this entire morning. Osamu didn’t blame them. This was effectively the first time they were introducing themselves to the parents, and to top it off, Sunday was their father’s birthday. It wasn’t the most conventional way to bring someone home to meet your parents, and Osamu was aware of that. But the twins had always been anything but conventional. 

As Atsumu slid the front door open, he dropped his backpack onto the floor, kicked off his shoes, and hollered through the house, “Mama! We’re here!”

“Don’t shout like that,” Osamu said, hobbling in after him. He followed in Atsumu’s footsteps, kicking off his shoes and swapping them for his old slippers, but unlike Atsumu, he left his shoes by the door in a neat pile. He looked over his shoulder at Suna and Sakusa, both waiting for further instructions. “You can come on in. We’ve got slippers you can use. One sec.”

Atsumu ran further into the house, calling out for their mother, and Osamu searched for two pairs of unused slippers, setting them down for Suna and Sakusa.

“Here ya go,” Osamu said, stumbling to his feet.

“Thanks,” Sakusa mumbled.

“Thank you,” Suna said. He hesitated for a second before letting his backpack slide to the floor. “Is Okaa-san here?”

“She said she was.”

Sure enough, a few moments later, the distinct patters of footsteps against the floor alerted them to the entrance of two people, and Atsumu returned with their mother in tow. “Found her,” he announced, all too pleased with himself. 

Both Suna and Sakusa bowed in greeting.

“It’s nice to finally meet you two,” their mother said when both men had straightened. “I would like to say I’ve heard a lot about you, but unfortunately, my two boys have been quite tight-lipped about you.” Osamu and Atsumu both offered sheepish grins. “I’m sure we’ll have a lot of time to get to know each other over the weekend.”

“Mama,” Atsumu said, stepping in. “This is Omi-kun—or, uh, Sakusa Kiyoomi. And this is Sunarin—er, Suna Rintarou.”

Their mother’s pleased little smile never faded once, and Osamu decided he was glad that he didn’t have to tell her that he’d lied to her face. The disappointment she would have felt would have crushed his entire being. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said again. Her head tilted up, as if she was registering how tall both men were. “You’re both so tall. You make our little house feel so tiny.”

“They’re not _that_ much taller than Samu and I,” Atsumu whined. He had always been a little bitter that Osamu had turned out slightly taller than him. It seemed that bitterness extended towards Suna and Sakusa, too.

“I know,” their mother said. “It’s just a surprise.” She held out a hand to ruffle Osamu’s hair. “Good to see you both.”

His cheeks flushed. “You, too, Mama.”

“Thank you again,” Sakusa said, speaking up in front of their mother for the first time. He seemed to hesitate, and Osamu thought that small, polite talk wasn’t one of Sakusa’s strengths. “For letting us stay. And inviting us in the first place. It’s really generous.”

Beside him, Suna nodded in agreement. “Yes, thank you.”

“Oh, it’s no problem.” She waved them off. “I’m just glad to finally get the chance to meet you both.” Her gaze fell downwards towards the bags that gathered around their feet. “I hope you two don’t mind sleeping on guest futons in the dining area. We’ll move the table to the side to make room.”

“That’s fine,” Suna said. “That works.”

That likely meant that he and Atsumu were sleeping in their old room for the weekend. It wasn’t that Osamu minded. He had lived there for most of his life, enduring a childhood in which Atsumu quite literally invaded his personal bubble at all times, and when the two had hit their growth spurts right before high school, they had still managed to fit in their tiny bunk bed. They hadn’t grown much since, so it would work out. 

“Tsumu, why don’t you give our guests a tour?” their mother suggested. “Show them where the bathroom is. I’d like to talk to Osamu for a second.”

“Sure.” Atsumu beamed before gesturing with his arms for Suna and Sakusa to follow him. Suna shot one look over his shoulder at Osamu as he left, and Osamu only allowed a smidge of worry to pinch at him. Suna would be fine. Suna could handle himself. 

When the two were left alone, his mother turned to him with a gentle smile. “They really are both very handsome,” she said.

Osamu let out a gentle laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed. 

“Very tall.”

“I know.”

“They have good manners. That’s nice.”

“Mmhmm.” Osamu nodded. “Will Papa like them? Wadaya think?”

“I’m sure he will,” she said. “He’ll be happy to see that the two of you have found someone more than anythin’ else.” She clapped her hands together once. “I was thinkin’ of makin’ ginger pork for dinner. Does that sound alright?”

“Sounds delicious.” After the day’s journey they’d had, any meal would settle nicely in his stomach. “Wouldja like help with that?”

“If you don’t mind.” There was a glint in her eye that suggested that she’d been hoping Osamu would offer his assistance. Osamu didn’t mind. This kitchen in his childhood home was where he’d fallen in love with cooking in the first place. It was comforting to return back to it. 

“Do we need to go shoppin’?”

“No,” she said, ushering him towards the kitchen. “I went this mornin’.”

* * *

As the sun set on the horizon, Osamu basked in the remainder of its bright rays as he bent over the stove, monitoring the pork as it cooked to ensure that it was neither overdone or underdone. It was a mindless task that didn’t require much brainpower, and it was quick to make. The actual process of making the dish didn’t last longer than twenty minutes, the combination of watching the pork on the stove and creating the seasoning. 

The only thing that demanded more of his attention was the person hovering in the corner of the room. 

“I can help,” Suna offered again, his second attempt at wheedling Osamu down in the last ten minutes. 

Osamu cut him a sharp look. Sure, Suna could offer as much as he wanted to. But when Osamu had handed him the garlic to grate, he had looked at the vegetable as if he had never seen one before in his life. It had been amusing, especially as Osamu came to the realization that Suna was useless in the kitchen. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t make macaroni and cheese without creating a mess. His lack of cooking finesse extended towards all meals. 

“No, you can’t,” Osamu said. “I asked you to grate the garlic, and all you did was stare at me.”

“Yeah, but—” Suna cut himself off as he took another step forward, trying to peek over Osamu’s shoulder. “I can do _something._ ”

“It’s fine.”

A pathetic whine came deep from Suna’s throat, and in the next moment, he pressed himself against Osamu’s back, just as he had on Wednesday with the excuse that he needed the best angles for taking pictures of the onigiri Osamu was crafting. Here, he had no such excuse. His warmth almost surpassed the heat coming from the stove, and Osamu steeled himself with a steady breath to keep from combusting on the spot. 

“Suna.”

“Hm?”

“Rin.”

“Yes?”

“This is dangerous.” Osamu moved one of the pieces of pork, listening to its sizzle as he turned it over. “One of us might wind up burnin’ ourselves. It ain’t like I’m makin’ onigiri.”

Suna buried his face into the spot between Osamu’s shoulder blades. “Sorry. I feel useless.”

“You’re not useless.” It was almost done. It was about time to add the seasoning. “You’re a guest. You’re not supposed to help with the dinner, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Suna mumbled. “But I don’t know. It feels weird to just wait for you to do it all yourself.”

“You could hang out with Atsumu. And Sakusa.”

“I’d rather not be a third-wheel, thanks.”

The sound of incoming footsteps made Osamu raise his head, and as his mother walked through the doorway to the kitchen, Suna practically leaped away from Osamu and put a good amount of distance between them. Their mother merely raised her brows in faint amusement before glancing at the stove. “Almost done?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Osamu said, returning his attention to the pan. “Is Papa almost home?”

“He should be home any second now.”

“Alright.” Osamu looked back over his shoulder at Suna, who stood in the corner of the kitchen, hovering again, his hands tucked into his pockets as he slouched over. “You wanna help? Set the table.”

“Samu,” his mother reprimanded before Suna could say anything. “Suna-kun is a guest. Don’t make him work.”

“Fine. Then call Atsumu. He’ll do it.”

“I can do it,” Suna said, stepping in. He put on his most pleasant smile that made him look far more innocent than he was. Nothing like the chaos wrecker Osamu had gotten to know these past two weeks. “I don’t mind.”

“Atsumu can do it,” his mother said weakly. “You don’t hafta.”

“I want to,” Suna insisted. His hands twitched in the direction of the cabinets, and Osamu tapped the one to the left above his head, indicating that the glasses were behind the door. 

As Suna started pulling out several glasses, Osamu started arranging the ginger pork on each individual plate, topped with a side of rice and some broccoli. To his credit, Suna took his duty of winning his mother over very seriously, and he set up each person’s place with extra care. 

By the time the five people in the house were seated around the table, Osamu’s stomach started to growl. Somehow, Osamu had wound up seated across from Atsumu, while their parents had one side of the table designated for them. The other side of the table left Suna and Sakusa seated together, which was probably for the best to keep any incident from occurring over the course of the meal. It was a relief when the door slid open a second later, and their father entered. 

“Look who it is,” their father said with a smile. His gaze roamed over every person in the room, though Osamu noticed how it lingered on Suna and Sakusa even longer. “My two favorite sons.”

“Didja hear that, Samu? Papa said I’m his favorite son.”

“He said two favorite sons, dickwad,” Osamu said as their father discarded his bag in his office and returned to take a seat at the table with the rest of them. “Anyway, only one of us is of any use around the house. You should be on yer feet thankin’ me for yer dinner.”

A chorus of thanks were sent his way, and once everyone was ready, they all tucked into the dinner. It took one bite for a satisfied smile to spread across Osamu’s face. It was good. Better than good, in fact. When he lifted his head, he found matching expressions of satisfaction all around the table, and there was no better compliment for someone who cooked for a living. This was what Osamu craved. 

“So,” their father spoke up, after a few minutes had passed, “it’s nice to meet you both.”

“This is Suna Rintarou.” Osamu waved a hand at Suna, then waved it again at Sakusa. “And Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

Both Suna and Sakusa nodded when they were introduced and murmured, “It’s nice to meet you,” in unison.

“So what do you two do?”

Sakusa blinked. “Huh?”

“What are yer jobs?”

“Oh.” Sakusa’s expression cleared. “I’m MSBY’s nutritionist. That’s how Atsumu and I met.”

“I’m a sports photographer.” Suna stuck a piece of broccoli in his mouth and waited to swallow it before continuing. “Mostly for volleyball.”

“Volleyball.” Their father brightened, as he always did at the mention of the sport his sons had fallen head over heels in love with. “Nice! Both Osamu and Atsumu played volleyball back in high school. Didja know that?”

Osamu pressed his eyes shut. He had never considered the inherent awkwardness that came with bringing someone home to meet your parents even without the aspect of a fake relationship thrown into the mix. 

“I did,” Suna said. “That’s actually how I knew of Osamu before we ever met. I also played volleyball. I was a middle blocker, though.” He shrugged. “But I read about the two of them all the time.”

“A middle blocker, huh?”

“I was the ace,” Sakusa said, though it looked like it pained him to continue to add to the small talk. Sakusa wasn’t like Atsumu, who talked for the sake of hearing himself speak. But it looked like he was forcing himself to put in a little extra effort for the purpose of impressing their parents. “When I played. Uh, back in high school. I also heard of them. Your sons, I mean.”

“The ace.” Their father’s eyes gleamed. He waved a hand over at Osamu. “Osamu was a wing spiker, too, but for most of high school, their friend—Aran-kun—was the ace.”

“That’s ‘cause Samu wasn’t good enough to be the ace.” Atsumu stuck his tongue out at Osamu over the table. “Prolly for the best, since he stopped volleyball after high school.”

Osamu mimed jabbing his chopsticks in Atsumu’s eye.

“Boys,” their mother reprimanded, and the simple word was enough to snap them out of their escalation. A blunt silence hit them, and the tension was so tangible as someone tried to find the right words to say.

“I sometimes play volleyball for fun still,” Suna said, breaking the tension as if it was nothing. “Just with a few friends. I’m trying to get Osamu to join us sometime.”

Osamu whipped his head around. He hadn’t known that Suna was aware of Konoha’s extended invitation. 

“Oh, really?” Their mother beamed. “It would be lovely if you did. Samu rarely touches a volleyball anymore, and it’s so sad since I know how much he loves it.”

“ _Mama._ ”

“I keep tellin’ him that his love for his business doesn’t have to overshadow everythin’.”

Osamu grunted and wished that this conversation would end. 

“Oh,” Suna said. “Well, I don’t think Osamu is too blinded by his business.” Suna picked up another piece of broccoli. “We always grab lunch together, and he’s been hanging out with my friends and I a lot more recently.”

Suna failed to mention that Osamu had hung out with his friends _once_ , and it had been more of a test than anything else to see if they could pull off acting like a real couple. But still, he watched as their mother’s eyes widened with something akin to awe.

A slow smile spread across her face. “Well, that’s lovely to hear.”

Someone slammed their glass against the table, and it made both Suna and Sakusa jolt, though all of the Miyas remained still, far too accustomed to Atsumu’s need for dramatics. “So, Sunarin,” Atsumu drawled, “how didja start datin’? I’d love to hear—since Samu won’t say.”

Sakusa narrowed his eyes in Atsumu’s direction, as though in disapproval, but he didn’t say anything. 

Their mother clapped their hands. “Oh, I would love to hear this. Osamu hasn’t said much.” She shot him an accusatory look, and Osamu tried not to wilt under the weight of it. 

Osamu sucked in a sharp breath and prayed to whatever god that would listen to put him out of misery.

“Well,” Suna said. He took a sip from his glass, and Osamu wondered if the move was meant to buy him more time, but when Suna began to speak, the words flowed as naturally as if it had happened in reality. “It’s kind of a boring story, to be honest. We live in the same apartment building. Osamu lives right beneath me. It took us a while to become more than acquaintances, but we were always polite to each other. But one night, I was up late working on a deadline, and Osamu came up to check on me. It was really sweet. It made me realize that I wanted to get to know him more.” He shrugged. “I asked him if he would go out with me.”

Atsumu blinked. Their parents seemed to be caught in headlights, their lips parted. Even Osamu was having trouble wrapping his head around Suna’s words. Suna hadn’t exactly _lied_ or come up with an elaborate story. In fact, his answer was so similar to the truth of how they’d started fake dating that it was chilling. Rather, it was his blunt matter-of-fact way of saying it that made Osamu feel as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He made it sound so simple. So easy. 

Suna looked sideways at Sakusa, the only person who hadn’t appeared blown away by Suna’s explanation. “How about you, Sakusa?” Suna asked. “How did you and Atsumu get together?”

Osamu had to actively suppress the urge to smile. Suna—creating chaos if he couldn’t find it. As usual. This time, it was welcome.

“Oh.” Sakusa pushed his rice around on his plate. “It’s not really that interesting either. Atsumu and I spend a lot of time together with the team. I asked him out.”

“ _You_ asked him out?” Osamu asked.

Sakusa raised his head. “Yes?”

“You asked my brother out. With that terrible personality of his.”

“ _Samu_!” 

Sakusa picked up a clump of rice with his chopsticks. “It grows on you,” was all he said before eating it. 

“Like a rash, maybe,” Osamu muttered. Beside him, Suna laughed under his breath. Osamu was sure that—in other circumstances—that snide comment might have gotten a full-blown burst of laughter from Suna. But right now, he didn’t want to risk offending their parents by taunting Atsumu too much. 

“That is really sweet,” their mother said. Osamu was grateful that his comment had gone unheard by all but Suna. “It makes me really happy. I worry about them a lot, ya know. They go to work, and then back home, and they never know how to relax. It stresses me out.”

“Don’t worry,” Suna said. “I make sure Osamu relaxes.”

Atsumu choked on his drink, nearly spewing it across the table. Osamu felt his own face flush, even as Suna’s words and the innuendo behind them didn’t register in their parents’ heads. Sakusa’s gaze remained fixed on his plate, as if he was willing himself to disappear so that he didn’t have to be a part of this conversation anymore. 

Atsumu’s eyes still bulged as he muttered, “That was unnecessary, Sunarin.”

Suna’s face was the perfect picture of innocence. “What?”

Sakusa cleared his throat. “Uh, I’ve been trying to instill a better work-life balance in Atsumu, too. So, uh, you don’t have to worry so much. He’s just really dedicated.”

“Oh, thanks, Omi-kun,” Atsumu said cheerfully, and his smile was genuine. 

“I know he is,” their mother said. “They both are. But they do need to learn when to be able to take a break.” She regarded them both with a stern look. “I trust you two to be able to handle them. They’re dumb boys, but they’re my boys, and now I’m handin’ them off to you.”

Both Suna and Sakusa struggled to meet her gaze as they fumbled with their responses, and Osamu felt a pang of sympathy for both of them. At least, in Suna’s case, this wasn’t real. It would hurt when their mother found out that they ended things, but she would get over it. Though, this was all starting to showcase how much it meant to their parents that Osamu had a life outside of Onigiri Miya. How much it meant that they both had lives outside of their careers. 

“Please, let this end,” Atsumu mumbled.

“Okaa-san, I was wondering,” Suna said, “if you had any pictures of Osamu as a child. I would really like to see them. He never lets me look at them.” He gave Osamu an impish grin, and Osamu regretted ever trusting Suna Rintarou. How had he done _this_? 

“Oh, of course!” Their mother beamed. “I have tons of photo albums. Wouldja like to see?”

“I would also like to see photos of Atsumu, please,” Sakusa piped up. He cleared his throat once. “Especially the embarrassing ones.”

“Omi-kun!”

“Rin,” Osamu said under his breath as their mother went to retrieve the first in what would be many, _many_ photo albums. “This is a betrayal.”

But it didn’t matter. As Suna stuck his tongue out in a playful gesture, Osamu found that his stomach felt warm and fuzzy inside. 

* * *

After several hours of pouring through photo album after photo album, Osamu had hit his limit for how much embarrassment he could take. It hadn’t been enough to merely live through the experience of their mother cooing at each photo she showed off. Suna had to take pictures of some of his favorites—namely, the ones where Osamu looked most like an idiot. 

There were a lot of volleyball-related ones that Suna had found, but his personal favorites had been the ones where the camera caught Osamu and Atsumu in the middle of their bickering, their faces forming identical pouts. Even Sakusa had enjoyed those, and it had been the first time Osamu heard Sakusa laugh. Osamu was certain he’d seen Sakusa take a picture of one old photograph of young Atsumu dressed in a fox raincoat with mud all over his face. 

But as the hours passed, their parents went up to bed, and the rest of them followed in their footsteps. Osamu put out the guest futons before changing into a more comfortable set of sweatpants and another sweatshirt for bed. As he was in the process of pulling back his sheets, Sakusa poked his head in the room.

“Hey, Atsumu?”

Atsumu lifted his head up from where he lay down on the top bunk. His hair was already disheveled from resting against the pillow as he leaned over the side. “Yeah, Omi-Omi?”

“I forgot my toothpaste.”

“Oh. It’s in my bag, actually.” Atsumu swung one leg over the frame of the bed to lower himself down on the ladder. “Lemme get it for ya.”

“Thanks.” Sakusa waited for Atsumu to rummage through his backpack before revealing a packet of toothpaste. 

“Ta-da!” Atsumu said cheerfully, his smile still wide even though it was close to midnight. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks,” Sakusa repeated. He regarded the both of them with a polite nod. “Good night.”

Sakusa disappeared down the hall, where his futon was set up next to Suna’s. Osamu hoped that Suna wouldn’t bother Sakusa too much. It wouldn’t be worth it to piss him off overnight. But on the other hand, he wondered how a conversation between them would go. Would Suna’s tendency to tease mesh well with Sakusa’s blunt honesty? They at least had a few things in common, but Osamu still worried a bit. 

It wasn’t like sharing a room with Atsumu was a luxury, but it _was_ familiar. At least to him. As Atsumu climbed back into the top bunk, Osamu followed his lead and crawled beneath his covers. Immediately, the warmth of the sheets buried deep within his bones, and Osamu snuggled in more as he drew them up to his chin. It wasn’t a warm evening by any means. In fact, there was a chill in the air that made him grateful to nestle in a cozy bed. 

“Hey.”

“Brat.”

“You didn’t even let me talk!” Atsumu cried out.

“Shush.” Osamu squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re too loud. You’re gonna wake everyone else up.”

It seemed like that was enough to get Atsumu to quiet down, but as usual, Atsumu had to open his big mouth again. He lasted two minutes before speaking up, and Osamu had to actively suppress the urge to snarl when Atsumu’s voice broke through the haze he was falling into. 

“What do you think they’re talkin’ about? Suna and Omi-kun?”

“Nothing, prolly,” Osamu said without opening his eyes. “‘Cause they’re _sleepin’._ ”

Atsumu lowered his voice, coming to the realization himself that his volume was still too high for what was considered appropriate for the hour. “Suna better not say anythin’ weird to him.” A pause. “Yer boyfriend’s a little weird. You know that, right?”

“Mmm,” Osamu hummed. “So is yours.”

“He is not.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He is _not._ How is he weird?”

“He likes you, for one.”

“Shut yer trap, Samu,” Atsumu hissed. There was a beat. “What if Suna creeps him out?”

“Rin isn’t gonna say anything.” Actually, Osamu wasn’t entirely certain of this. Suna could very well be blabbing to Sakusa at this very moment. But it didn’t make sense to heighten Atsumu’s worries more. Atsumu had to learn at his own pace that it was impossible to control Suna Rintarou. “Rin understands limits. He’s not gonna bother Sakusa just for the sake of it.”

Atsumu harrumphed, and the telltale signs of him rolling over in bed were accompanied by the squeaks of the mattress above his head. “He better not,” Atsumu muttered. “Or I’ll kill him.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Nope. Won’t letcha.”

“I’m not kiddin’.”

“What are you two yapping about in here?” 

Osamu turned his head toward the doorway, opening his eyes, and speaking of the devil, Suna stood in the entrance of the room, his shadowy silhouette blurry in his vision. “Tsumu’s worried you’re gonna corrupt Sakusa,” Osamu said. 

“Samu!”

“Oh.” Suna wandered further into the room, and Osamu felt a pang in his chest. He always liked Suna best like this. Less mischievous, more earnest and honest. He became much softer in the dead of night. His hair stuck up in multiple directions rather than its usual style to the sides, and his shirt was wrinkled in several places. “You shouldn’t worry about that. Sakusa fell asleep right away.”

“Good,” Atsumu said. 

“I’ll corrupt him in the morning.”

“Sunarin!”

Suna chuckled low under his breath. 

“What are ya doin’ here, Suna?” Osamu asked, squinting to try and discern Suna’s features better.

“I’m a little cold.” Suna cupped his elbows, drawing attention to the fact that he only wore a short-sleeved T-shirt. Osamu felt freezing just from looking at him. “Can I borrow a sweatshirt of yours?”

“Sure.” Osamu pulled himself out of bed and hobbled over to their shared dresser. Crouching down, he pulled out the middle drawer and rifled through their collection of sweatshirts and hoodies. 

There was no shortage of them, ranging from prints of popular animes or ‘Inarizaki High School’ ones, and Osamu drew out one of his old volleyball club sweatshirts. It wasn’t until he handed it over that he realized the sheer intimacy of the gesture. When Suna decided to return it to him, it would smell like Suna. He wouldn’t be able to wear it again without imagining Suna in it. 

“Here,” he said, pushing it forward before he could overthink it too much. 

“Thanks.” Suna didn’t wait to put it on outside of the room. He yanked it on in front of Osamu, and even in the darkness, Osamu could make out the print of ‘Inarizaki High School’ across the front as Suna dug his hands into the pockets. “Much better. Thanks, Osamu.”

“No problem,” Osamu said, though his voice sounded scratchier than usual. “Do you need anythin’ else?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” Suna offered him a small smile, visible even without the light. “Good night, Osamu.” He headed out, but paused in the doorway. “Night, worse twin.”

“Oh, shut yer trap, Sunarin.”

Suna’s chuckle continued until it faded into silence, and as Osamu tucked himself back into his bed, his heart racing in his chest, he listened to Suna’s footsteps until they stopped completely—and he figured that Suna had crawled back onto his futon. 

“You’re so fucked, Samu,” Atsumu said. 

Osamu blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re so fuckin’ whipped.”

Indignation bit at him, until he cried out, “You’re one to talk.”

Atsumu harrumphed, and Osamu listened as he turned over in bed again, the sheets rustling. When Atsumu didn’t speak up again, Osamu let himself doze off too, but the last thing he saw before sleep overcame him was the outline of Suna’s brilliant smile, too bright to be dimmed in the dark. 


	10. Chapter 10

As the sun hung over the sky, the birds whistling in the distance, Osamu questioned all of his life decisions that had brought him to this point. It wasn’t the most drastic of situations. He was aware that he was being dramatic, but a two-on-two volleyball game after being out of practice for so long was _not_ how he’d intended on spending his morning. 

He had hoped for a lazy morning in, and instead, he’d been woken up by Atsumu banging against the bed frame and Suna pressing his cold hands against Osamu’s stomach. Needless to say, he had leapt out from beneath his covers within an instant, and he had not been pleased at the sight of Atsumu and Suna conspiring against him. Suna was meant to be on _his_ side, for crying out loud. 

After breakfast, Atsumu had been the one to demand that they put up the volleyball net again and play. Osamu had opened his mouth to object, but Sakusa had cut in with a soft, “That sounds like fun,” and given no one else room to complain. That was how Osamu found himself stuck on one side of the net, facing off against Atsumu and Sakusa on the other end.

That was the other thing that had rustled him. Atsumu had immediately clung to Sakusa and announced that the two of them were a team. It wasn’t a bad thing. This meant that Osamu got to play with Suna, and he was looking forward to playing with Suna. But after years and years of playing together, he’d expected a bit more loyalty from Atsumu. But no, the traitor went and ditched him now that he was in _love._

“Don’t worry, Osamu,” Suna assured him as he underwent a few basic stretches in preparation. Even if they wouldn’t strain themselves as much as a normal match, it was better to be safe than sorry. Kita had instilled that habit in them, and it was something Osamu had maintained diligently for the rest of his life. He held onto that routine even more so after Atsumu’s injury. “We’ll win.”

“You sure about that?” Osamu asked. He’d seen Sakusa flex his strangely flexible wrists before walking to his side of the court. Osamu himself was out of practice. He rarely ever exercised nowadays. He tended to view his weekly cycles of heaving bags of rice over his shoulder as enough of a workout regimen to keep him going. Meanwhile, Atsumu and Sakusa worked for a professional volleyball team. They had a clear advantage here.

“It sounds like you’re doubting me. I don’t appreciate it.” Suna twisted his upper body from side to side, counting out the seconds under his breath. “Besides, I’ve seen you play. You’re good. You’re not as good of a setter as your brother, but you’ll do.”

Osamu shot Suna a flat look. He still hadn’t gotten over the little collaboration between Atsumu and Suna this morning. “I’m out of practice. I haven’t trained in years. I’m not sure I’ll be able to hit a jump serve.”

“You don’t ever really forget, though. It comes naturally, even if it takes you a while to remind yourself how it’s done.”

Osamu grunted before pulling his left arm to the right side in a tight stretch. “Maybe.”

“Relax.” Suna bent over at the waist to touch his toes, and Osamu was mildly surprised when he did so without a hitch. “I’ve got this. And so do you. I’m not letting your brother embarrass us.”

Osamu sighed. Although Suna sounded determined, Osamu knew how Atsumu’s competitiveness could bring his opponents’ spirits down within seconds. As soon as he got going, it was hard to keep up. Osamu had once been like that. Now, he wondered if he was at risk of pulling a muscle if he jumped up for a spike. His gaze flitted down towards his hands. He never kept his nails long, especially considering he worked in the food industry, but he wished he’d filed them down more before they came outside. 

“I sometimes slack off when it comes to volleyball,” Suna said, two hands bracing his back as he stretched backwards. Osamu’s eyes widened as Suna pushed himself until the point where it looked like his spine might snap. “But I promise I won’t today.”

“That’s...not as reassurin’ as you think it is.”

Before Suna could respond, a sharp whistle cut through the air. Atsumu waited at the net, his hand grasping onto it, a volleyball braced against his hip. He rolled it beneath to where it stopped at Osamu’s feet.

“We’ll letcha have the first serve,” Atsumu said with a pompous smirk. Osamu wanted to punch him. Instead, he picked up the ball and dusted off the dirt that had collected on its surface from years of use. “Just to make it fair.”

“That hardly makes it fair,” Osamu shot back. He glanced over at Suna. “Wouldja like the first serve?”

Suna shook his head. “I’m a terrible server. It’s better that I start off in the front, anyway. Blocker and all.”

That was a good point. Since Osamu would be the one setting most of the time, whenever Suna was in the front, the attacks would be on him. As Osamu traced his steps back outside of the makeshift court, he wondered how this would turn out. He’d never seen Suna play before. Sure, this was just for fun. Theoretically. In reality, Atsumu would never let it go if he and Sakusa made it off with the victory. 

And—Osamu was just as competitive as Atsumu. He didn’t _want_ to lose. 

His sneakers brushed against the dirt as he marked his steps. He never counted like Atsumu, but he ensured that he had enough distance to perform the run up without crossing the line before the jump. As he turned around, he was faced with the intimidating image of his two opponents waiting on the other side of the net.

Sakusa was hunched over, his arms braced at his sides, ready to snap forward in the perfect platform in an instant. He was placed at the back, which made Osamu think that he was the better receiver. Atsumu waited near the front, his eyes focused yet taunting, and a coy smile twisted his lips as he watched Osamu.

Meanwhile, Suna hung close to the net, right across from Atsumu, and his hands were held out in front of him. He didn’t move to cover the back of his head. That was either too trusting or too stupid. Maybe both.

“Are you ready?” Atsumu asked. “Or are you gonna keep on standin’ there?”

Osamu scowled. Back in high school, he would have risen to the bait and thrown the ball in the air to start his run in the next breath. Now, he steadied himself, and he took a second longer to determine where he planned to aim the ball. 

The back right corner. 

It was far enough from Sakusa that it would be difficult to reach. Even if he did, the receive would likely be sloppy, and Atsumu would have to make up for it with a tricky set. Yes, there.

Osamu tossed the ball in the air in a high arc, and for a second, he questioned whether it was high enough. It had been too long since he’d served, but as he started his run, there was only one thought running through his mind: _it works._ He leapt up to meet the downward arc, and as it hit his palm, the resounding slap against rubber echoed against his ears as if he’d done this yesterday. 

The ball roared through the air, spiraling toward the rough area Osamu had aimed, and Osamu was all too pleased that the serve had been decent enough that he didn’t register Sakusa’s quick movements. It happened in the blink of an eye, the quick shuffle to the left on Sakusa’s end, and he forced the ball upwards with a firm platform that looked practiced and efficient. 

The receive was perfect. And Atsumu knew it too, judging by the lack of hesitation on his part to jump up for the set. Sakusa hardly needed any recovery time. He stormed forward for the kill, and Osamu was reminded of the sheer mass and size of him as he flew up to meet the ball. 

Suna was a blur as he slid along the net, but as his arms raised high to stop it, the ball whizzed past him, hitting the ground near Osamu’s feet.

“Hah!” Atsumu cackled out loud before holding out his hands for a high ten from Sakusa. Sakusa only hesitated for a brief moment before meeting it, and anyone could see Atsumu was pleased at the return of the gesture. “Nice kill, Omi-kun!” His head whipped around. “See! I toldja, Samu! We’re gonna win.”

“Ugh,” Osamu said. He looked at Suna. “Sorry.”

But to his surprise, Suna was unfazed. “No worries. I start off slow, by the way. Just a warning. I’ll get into it more the longer we play.”

“Oh. Okay.”

It was a nice thought, but as the serve turned over to the opposing side, Atsumu was relentless in his serves. He purposely sported his float serves—the ones he _knew_ Osamu struggled to get—and it took Osamu three serves to finally get one in the air.

Thankfully, Suna put it up in a decent set, and Osamu managed to get past Sakusa’s tall wall. It was an instantaneous relief to watch the ball land on the opposite side. It was only a point, but in volleyball, that was all it took. All that mattered was the continuous method of tallying up points for your side. 

They managed to score a few points while Suna served, thanks to Osamu’s sets and Suna’s attacks, but Suna was right in declaring that his serve was weak. It was a normal serve, and although he could pinpoint where he wanted it to land on the opposite side, both Atsumu and Sakusa could pick it up once they determined its trajectory. 

During Sakusa’s serve, Osamu got to see firsthand the extent of the power of his flexible wrists. Each ball twisted in a spin that felt impossible to pick up, and Osamu kept having to slide and dive for the receive. Dirt coated his knees, and new scratches dug at his skin, but all he had to do was look at Atsumu’s triumphant smirk before he dusted himself off and stood up. 

“Okay,” Suna announced when it was Osamu’s turn to serve again. The score was 13-10, with the tide firmly in Atsumu and Sakusa’s favor. “I’m ready now.”

Osamu quirked an eyebrow as he reached down for the ball. “Ready for what?”

“You’ll see,” was all Suna said with a small smile. 

Suna’s cryptic message was enough to send Osamu into overdrive, and his mind went over every possibility of what Suna might expect from him as he got into position to serve. There was no way of predicting what Suna was about to do. All Osamu could do was perform as he usually did. With that thought at the front of his mind, he tossed the ball into the air and began his run.

As it flew towards the other side, Sakusa got under it, but Osamu was pleased to see that the receive went long. It flew back towards their side, and Osamu readied his arms to receive—until he looked left.

Suna started a run up as if he was going for the spike without any warning on his part, and Osamu had a split second to transition to a set. As the ball settled into the bowl of his hands, he forced it upward in a nice arc. It wasn’t as precise or accurate as one of Atsumu’s, but it was easy to hit. 

Suna jumped up as if he’d expected this, and Atsumu moved to block it, his arms raised high. Even though Atsumu was slightly shorter than Suna, the sight of those arms was foreboding as ever, and Osamu prepared himself in the event that he’d need to retrieve a blocked ball. 

But as the ball started careening down, Suna twisted—until he was parallel with the floor. All Osamu could do was gape as Suna’s palm connected with the ball, and it got around Atsumu’s block as if there was nothing there to stop it at all. It spun towards the left line of the court, too far for Sakusa to retrieve, and as it hit the ground with a thud, all of the air in Osamu’s lungs left him.

Suna landed on the ground, his sneakers digging into the dirt, and he straightened. He spun around with a smirk twisting his lips. “I told you I was ready,” he said, oblivious to Osamu’s staring. 

“What—” Osamu licked his lips and tried again. “ _What_?”

Suna blinked, the smirk falling. “What?”

“How didja do that?” This time, the question came from Atsumu, still staring at the spot where the ball had hit the ground, as if trying to fathom how it had all happened. “You—you got around my block like I wasn’t even there! Yer body—”

“Core strength,” Sakusa said by way of explanation, studying Suna like he was a curious animal rather than a living, breathing human being. “You’re flexible.”

“Uh-huh,” Suna said, nodding. “Most people hit the ball with their arm and shoulder. I can do a little more than that.” Suna did a physical demonstration, showcasing how his range of motion increased with the use of his entire upper body. “It’s hard to block.”

“Suna.” Atsumu dove beneath the net and gripped Suna by the shoulders. “Let me sign you for MSBY, please.”

“Uh, no,” Suna said, trying to shake himself free of Atsumu’s grip. Osamu stepped forward to pry each of Atsumu’s fingers off, one by one. Suna pointed at Sakusa. “You have a perfectly flexible specimen over there.”

“Trust me, I try gettin’ him to sign a contract every day.”

“And it’ll never work,” Sakusa interjected. 

“I only play volleyball for fun.” Suna put a foot of space between him and Atsumu once Osamu successfully pulled Atsumu off his fake boyfriend. “So, no, thanks.”

“Ugh. _Ugh._ ” Atsumu tipped his head back towards the sky and let out a loud groan that was meant to irritate all those in the near vicinity. “I could make an unstoppable team, and you won’t be a part of it!”

“Yeah.” Suna placed a hand on his hip. “Because why would I purposely sign a contract that means you get to tell me what to do?”

“Sunarin!”

“Can we get back to playing?” Sakusa cut in. He’d retrieved the ball from where it had rolled away, and he tossed it beneath the net over to Osamu.

It was like Sakusa’s question was all that was needed to snap Atsumu out of whatever daze he’d fallen into, and he walked back around to his side of the court. Osamu ambled back over to his serving position, the ball clutched in his right hand, and as he passed Suna, he whispered, “That was incredible.”

Suna’s smile in response felt like the greatest victory of all.

* * *

In the end, the four of them wound up staying out well into the afternoon. As the sun continued to burn, sweat started collecting on Osamu’s skin, and his clothes stuck to his limbs. Every muscle cried out in protest the more he pushed them forward, and his lungs screamed at him to slow down. But he couldn’t.

As he and Suna took the first set, Atsumu’s competitiveness blossomed into a full storm, and it took everything out of Osamu to keep up. But he wasn’t alone. Every time Suna went up for one of those full upper body spikes, Osamu found himself watching in silent awe, his eyes following each movement and twist as Suna slammed the ball past the block. It never ceased to amaze him, even after the tenth time he’d seen it. 

He couldn’t help it. Suna was fucking mesmerizing. 

His heart pounded—and he wasn’t sure he could knock it all down to the exertion of the match. 

Suna’s abilities put the game on a far more even scale, and their team managed to scrape up a victory. As they went onto more sets, Atsumu and Sakusa got their revenge, but he and Suna never let up. Not even for a moment. 

Osamu refused to lose. It didn’t matter that he’d given up volleyball as a career. He still adored it, and that love hadn’t lessened over the years. It came back as a reminder every now and then, and with each moment that he sensed himself connecting with the ball as he had in high school, he remembered why he’d loved it so much to begin with. 

But when Atsumu called for a fifth set, Osamu was at his limit. He braced himself on his knees as he hunched over, his chest heaving for air. Beside him, Suna was in a similar state. His eyelids drooped, and Osamu worried whether Suna would pass out at any given moment.

It wasn’t like Atsumu or Sakusa were any better off. In fact, Sakusa shot Atsumu the dirtiest look Osamu had ever seen at the suggestion of another set. He used his shirt to wipe away at the sweat dripping down his face and scowled. Atsumu clapped his hands, ignoring the flush to his face and the dampness of his own clothes. 

“C’mon, ya losers,” Atsumu said. “Again. Again.”

“Are you a child?” Osamu demanded, his voice scratchy. “No. We’re all exhausted. None of us are professional athletes. We need a break.”

“Just one more—”

“Atsumu,” Sakusa cut in, and the simple sound of his name was enough to make Atsumu clamp his mouth shut. As Osamu’s eyes flitted over to Sakusa, he watched Sakusa’s scowl deepen. 

“Right,” Atsumu said, even though it had been nothing more than an unspoken conversation neither he nor Suna were privy to. “Sorry. I’ll get some more water.”

Atsumu vanished inside the house while their father came out, and their father took one look at them before saying, “Looks like it was a successful couple of sets.”

Osamu glared at him, even if it was made harder by the fact that he could barely see straight. “It was exhaustin’.”

“Yeah,” their father said. He came to sit on the wooden planks outside the door, and he rested his forearms against his knees. His face tilted back towards the sunshine, and Osamu envied how relaxed he looked. Osamu looked as though he’d finished a race—and _lost._ “But you’re just out of practice.”

“None of us are professional athletes, Papa.”

“I know.”

Atsumu reappeared then, several plastic water bottles cradled in his arms. Of course, the first went to Sakusa, who mumbled his thanks as soon as Atsumu came over. The second was given to Suna, who wasted no time in taking a long gulp before pouring a large portion of it over his head, drenching his hair. 

“Where’s mine?” Osamu demanded.

“Huh? I didn’t bring you one.”

“ _Atsumu._ ” Osamu took one threatening step in Atsumu’s direction, and that was all it took for Atsumu to hold out another water bottle that had been hidden behind his back.

“Alright, _alright._ ” Atsumu handed it over. “Here ya go. Bossy.”

Osamu had no response to that as his fingers fumbled with the cap. The water spilled over the edges as he finally flicked it open, and the cool liquid was a welcome relief as it trickled inside his mouth and down his throat. Osamu collapsed on the ground beside Suna, his head resting on Suna’s stomach, and he cradled the bottle in his hand.

“That shit’s exhaustin’,” Osamu repeated. He felt rather than heard Suna rumble his agreement. “Tell Konoha that I’m not joinin’ ya for volleyball the next time you play. This was enough to wear me out.”

“You have to,” Suna said. “They’ll miss you otherwise.”

“No, they won’t.”

“Besides,” Suna continued, as if Osamu hadn’t spoken at all, “you have to see how I play when it’s six-on-six. Much more fun to manipulate the blockers that way. When it’s just one person, it’s kinda easy.”

“I’m offended,” Sakusa murmured from where he sat on the wood, a few feet away from their father. Atsumu occupied the space in between them. Ironically, he looked the least winded out of all of them, but Osamu believed the strain was still there. 

“Don’t be, Sakusa. You’re very good. Your spins are nasty.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“Sure it is.”

“I agree,” Atsumu said. “Yer spins are real nasty, Omi-kun.”

“Hey, Tsumu,” Osamu said, draping an arm over his eyes. The sun burned his vision less this way. The back of his eyelids was an easier sight to bear. With his head against Suna’s stomach like it was a makeshift pillow, it was the most comfortable he’d been all day. “That last set you did was shit.”

“Shut up!” Atsumu cried out, and Osamu heard their father let out a preemptive sigh. “It was _not_.”

“It _was_ a little low,” Sakusa said.

Osamu felt a ghost of a smile appear on his face. He didn’t have to see Atsumu right now to imagine the look of pure indignation. 

“ _Omi-kun!_ ” Atsumu cried out. “How couldja? My sets are perfect.”

“Mmm.”

When there was no further response, Osamu moved his arm and peeled one eye open. To his surprise, the image that greeted him wasn’t strange or unusual by any means. It was—simple. Domestic. Sakusa’s head lolled against Atsumu’s shoulder as exhaustion hit him like a punch to the gut, and Atsumu bore his weight like he was meant to all along. 

Osamu felt a pang in his chest. 

It only softened when Suna’s palm fell against his cheek, as if to reassure himself that Osamu was still there. 

* * *

Moments of quiet domesticity were difficult to come by in the years since Osamu had moved out of Hyogo. They returned every so often, usually around New Year’s or other birthdays and holidays, but they surprised Osamu with how pleasant and soothing they were each time. He hadn’t imagined that he’d achieve the same tranquility within his childhood home with two newcomers, but both Suna and Sakusa had meshed easily. 

Atsumu had suggested that they all watch television after dinner. It had been Osamu’s choice to put on a cooking competition, one that was fraught with a short-tempered head chef and several incompetent cooks. Of course, Atsumu had vehemently argued against Osamu being the one to decide on what they watched, but their mother had voted in favor of Osamu’s choice—and that was that. Atsumu didn’t crack another complaint. 

Instead, everyone huddled around the small television and followed the competition on-screen for three solid episodes in a row. The episodes were from the beginning of a season Osamu had seen twice already, meaning that the level of chaos was at an all-time high, and it made more room for careless mistakes. Those mistakes were terrible for the competitors, but entertaining for the audience. 

Atsumu could complain as much as he’d like about the content, but he couldn’t deny that it held some appeal for everyone. Every single person in the room was riveted whenever someone dropped vegetables onto the crowd, shouted at another competitor, or undercooked the rice. 

Their parents sat behind the table—which had been pulled back into its usual position for dinner—while Atsumu was the closest to the television, balancing on his knees. Sakusa remained to his left, his back pressed against the edge of the table, and even he let out a small chuckle whenever something particularly amusing happened on-screen. 

Osamu rested against the wall, his spine straight. His gaze flitted downwards for a moment, where Suna lounged between his legs. Suna’s head fell onto his stomach as Suna used him as a makeshift pillow, and each of Osamu’s legs were braced around Suna’s hips, though it wasn’t of his own accord. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to react.

Suna acted as if this was perfectly normal—sprawling over your significant other to make yourself comfortable. But Atsumu and Sakusa weren’t positioned like this. 

Osamu tried to keep his attention fixed onto the screen, ignoring the way his stomach clenched whenever Suna shifted. He pretended like the weight of Suna against his chest meant nothing. But as time went on, it became harder and harder to lie to himself about it.

He had never been a good liar. 

“Well,” their mother said as the third episode came to an end. The fourth started up without interruption, but she pushed herself to her feet. “That was fun. I think I’m gonna head upstairs and get into bed if that’s alright.”

Atsumu twisted around in place. “Good night, Mama.”

“I’ll head up, too,” their father murmured. It took him a few seconds longer for him to stand, his old joints not up to scratch as they used to be. “It’s gettin’ late. Don’t stay up too long.”

“We won’t,” Osamu said.

As their parents left the room, he wondered if he’d imagined the lingering look cast in his direction. 

Atsumu’s head twisted in the other direction this time, landing on Osamu. “How does the season end?” he demanded.

Before Osamu could answer, Sakusa ordered, “No spoilers,” without his eyes leaving the screen. 

“I’m not tellin’ you,” Osamu said, partly because he enjoyed the satisfaction of Atsumu indirectly admitting that he was interested in the show, and partly because he wanted to see Atsumu fume. “If you wanna know, watch the rest yourself.”

Atsumu let out a snarl of frustration. “You’re so annoyin’,” he complained. He turned back around.

The four of them made it through one more episode before Osamu recognized that he’d reached his limit. His eyelids became heavy, and his body felt as though it was sinking into the floor. His right foot had fallen asleep, buzzing and demanding his attention. He could barely see in the dark anymore, his vision too blurry and fuzzy. Suna was motionless in his lap. The only indication he gave that he was awake were his one-worded comments every couple of minutes. 

“Rin.” Osamu nudged him. “I’m goin’ to bed. I’m tired. You have to get up.”

Suna made a noncommittal noise.

“Please.”

Slowly, Suna eased himself up into a sitting position, and while Osamu still believed he was too close to be considered normal, it was easier to scramble to his feet. His right foot ached for a few seconds until the feeling returned back to it. 

“I’m tired, too,” Suna mumbled, his head lolling forward. Osamu had enough sense to catch him before he cracked his skull against the corner of the table.

“Babies,” Atsumu muttered under his breath.

“Actually,” Sakusa said, letting out a yawn, “I’m ready for bed.”

“Of course, Omi-kun,” Atsumu said, his mood switching like a light. It didn’t matter what everyone else thought, but if Sakusa made some remark, Atsumu agreed with him right away. He stumbled to his feet. “Lemme push the table back, and we’ll set up yer futon.”

“And Rin’s,” Osamu reminded him.

“Screw Suna,” Atsumu said. He bent over to shove the table against the wall, narrowly missing Osamu’s toes. “I take care of my boyfriend, and you take care of yours.”

“Funny.” Osamu eased Suna into a sitting position against the wall. “I was the one that gave Sakusa his futon yesterday, you asshole.”

Osamu turned towards Suna, whose eyelids had fluttered shut as his head leaned back against the hard wall. Behind him, he heard Atsumu’s mutterings as he spread out Sakusa’s futon. For a second, it seemed like Atsumu wasn’t going to put out Suna’s guest futon as well, but then Sakusa reminded him, “And Suna’s.”

“Ugh,” Atsumu grumbled, but Osamu heard the telltale sounds of a second futon being laid out. 

The twins departed back to their bedroom a few moments later, once it looked like everything was set up and laid out for Suna and Sakusa to sleep. Suna had crawled beneath the covers with no further statements, and even Sakusa had tumbled into his futon like he was about to fall asleep standing up if he didn’t lie down as soon as possible. 

Osamu couldn’t stop yawning, even as he switched into the same clothes he’d worn into bed last night. Atsumu climbed into the top bunk first, and then Osamu climbed into the bottom bunk. It wasn’t until he’d tucked himself beneath the covers that the question of whether Suna would be cold again hit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you thought!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brace yourselves

It was still dark when he registered the shifting covers. The temporary chill that brushed his shoulders stirred him awake in an instant, and Osamu blinked up blearily at the frame of the bed above him as his mind struggled to catch up with his body. It wasn’t until he realized that his covers were still moving that he turned his head to the side. 

The sight of a hand almost made him scream—and he probably would’ve if he had been more alert and awake—and he followed the arm upwards until he found a set of undistinguishable features. He didn’t register the palm nudging him to the side until the face connected with his memory.

“Suna?” Osamu croaked, his voice groggy with sleep. He couldn’t tell if this was a dream or real life. He was banking on the former. 

“Mmm. Move over.”

“Huh?” 

Suna didn’t wait for him to answer again before he lifted one of his legs and slid beneath the covers. He only made it halfway before the problem of Osamu’s large frame became more persistent. Osamu tried to slide over, but every part of him was weighed down with exhaustion. He couldn’t tell if he was moving at all. 

Somehow, he managed. Suna fumbled underneath the covers, yanking them up until they reached his chin. His wrists were covered with the arms of the sweater that Osamu had let him borrow yesterday, but even then, as Suna’s feet brushed against his, the iciness of his skin made Osamu hiss.

“Shit, you’re cold,” he said. Even his mouth worked slower than usual. Each word felt as though it was dragged out of him. 

“Sorry,” Suna whispered. He shifted beneath the covers, trying to make himself comfortable, and Osamu was aware of every squirm he made, especially as Suna’s side came to press up against his.

Osamu’s bed was a decent size. It had survived the years in which he had hit his growth spurt, and it had served him well even as an adult. Even if it creaked and groaned, he never worried about whether it would collapse beneath him. But as Suna dug further into it, Osamu knew that this bed was far too small for two grown men to fit on top of. 

Suna was taller. Suna took up more space. And Suna was—Suna. There were about a million excuses as for why this shouldn’t happen.

“S’okay,” Osamu mumbled. His eyelids fluttered shut as the promise of sleep threatened to pull him back under, and even if he wanted to argue, he couldn’t. Rather, he didn’t want to.

Because as Suna rolled over, his face tilted towards Osamu’s, his breath fanning him, Osamu realized something that had been a long time coming. As Suna pressed against him, Osamu knew that this wasn’t how a fake relationship worked.

Even with their stupid little list, there was no reason for Suna to climb into Osamu’s bed late at night when the rest of the house was silent. There was no reason for all the lingering touches and the teasing remarks. His family believed they were together. They didn’t have to go further to convince them. 

But Osamu didn’t mind.

He didn’t mind the looks or the teasing or the act of relinquishing his sweatshirts over. He didn’t mind the late night cooking sessions or the lunch break conversations or the contact as Suna hung over him while he cooked. No, he didn’t mind Suna at all. 

That wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

He was meant to be able to cut ties after this weekend—to be able to say thank you without wishing it would last longer. He was meant to be able to create boundaries. He was meant to be able to accept that this was fake. That this had been fake since the beginning.

But as Osamu peeked out through one eye, he spotted the softness in Suna’s expression as he drifted off, drool forming in the corner of his mouth, and he knew one thing. Somewhere along the way, he had started wanting this fake relationship to be real. 

Somewhere along the way, he had started liking Suna Rintarou. 

* * *

As soon as the first evidence of sunlight trickled through the curtains, Osamu bolted out of bed. Suna was still curled up around him, his expression unchanged, though his limbs had spread out more over the night. It took a few minutes for Osamu to untangle himself without alerting either Suna or the slumbering Atsumu up above. In the end, he made it out intact. 

Osamu didn’t bother getting dressed before wandering into the kitchen. Birthdays were never a big affair in their house. Sure, it had been tricky growing up with twins when they had to share everything—including a birthday. But they had been content with a large cake to share and an evening outside practicing volleyball. As Osamu had grown, that tradition hadn’t changed much. The only thing that had changed was that he was in charge of baking the cake. 

He dove into the refrigerator and spread out the necessary ingredients. With the house quiet in the early hours, there was no better time to bake. He could proceed without an audience, and no matter how much he loved cooking at his restaurant, he relished in the calmer moments within his own kitchen, where he cooked only for himself and didn’t worry too much about the results, too wrapped up in the process to care. 

He made it through a large portion of the recipe before anyone else stirred. While he poured batter into the spare cake pans, Sakusa wandered into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes with closed fists. He blinked a few times at the scene in front of him, but Osamu paid him no mind as he measured the exact height of batter in each pan. 

“Oh,” Sakusa said. “You’re baking a cake?”

“Yup.” With the pans all full, he opened the oven door, already heated, and he shoved the pans inside. They would need at least twenty-five minutes before they were ready. In the meantime, he’d work on the frosting. 

“I didn’t even hear you. You’re surprisingly quiet in the kitchen.”

“Not everyone is as loud as Tsumu.”

“You’re right.” Sakusa leaned against the door frame. “Not everyone. But you are. A lot of the time.”

Osamu leveled a hard look at him as he reached for the butter. 

“What kind of cake are you making?”

“Just a vanilla sponge,” Osamu answered. He let the mixer in his hand beat the butter until it became creamy. “Papa doesn’t really have much of a sweet tooth to begin with, so it’s better to make somethin’ basic.”

Sakusa nodded. “I like vanilla cake.”

That was a weird note to end the conversation on, but that was how Sakusa chose to leave it. He wandered away a second later, back in the direction of his futon, and Osamu returned his attention to making the frosting. 

A half hour later, someone else came into the kitchen, and although Osamu tried very hard to force his attention onto the task at hand, it was difficult when the individual who arrived was the last person Osamu wanted to see this morning. Because—with his realization last night—Osamu felt like he’d crossed an invisible line that had been drawn.

He felt like he’d taken advantage of Suna in a strange way—even though he never could have foreseen this happening. Suna had agreed to a quick fake relationship with an expiration date after this weekend. He hadn’t agreed to Osamu’s pathetic little crush and surviving this chaos long-term.

Atsumu had Sakusa, but the next time his family got together, Osamu would show up alone. Because that was how this worked. 

Knowing what he did, Osamu couldn’t bear to make eye contact with Suna.

“Hey,” Suna murmured. His voice croaked as if he’d just woken up. “I was wondering where you went.” He sniffed the air once. “That smells good.”

“Thanks.” Osamu kept his gaze fixed ahead as he steadied the first layer onto the cake stand that he’d discovered hidden in the very back of his mother’s cupboards. “I just wanted to get this done.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

It was awkward. Maybe it wouldn’t have been if Osamu wasn’t aware of his feelings towards Suna, but he was. That made everything worse. 

Osamu started spreading the icing over the top of the bottom layer, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth. He was so absorbed in ensuring that it was spread evenly that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until Suna pressed against his back.

It hadn’t been the most innocent of gestures before, but now, all Osamu could do was think about the weight of Suna’s arms draped over his shoulders as he peered around to watch what Osamu was doing. His hair tickled Osamu’s neck, and Osamu sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. 

It took everything he had to keep his hand steady. Suna had almost gotten him to mess up a few weeks back when he’d come up to make him macaroni, and now, he almost did it again. But no, years of practice ensured that his arm didn’t shake as he finished icing off the layer.

“It looks good,” Suna commented. The sentence made a gust of his breath brush against the nape of Osamu’s neck, and the hairs on his skin stood to attention.

“Thanks,” Osamu said again. He couldn’t force Suna off. If he did, Suna would know something was off. All he had to do was play it cool—which was impossible, considering he had to grab the other cake layer and place it on top of the cream. It was difficult enough to do without another person lounging over you. “Suna, I need to—”

Suna peeled himself away. He did so without a complaint, but Osamu noticed the sting he felt at the loss of his presence. 

As Osamu placed the other layer on top, resting it onto the icing, Suna murmured, “Suna, huh?”

“What?” Osamu looked over his shoulder to find Suna watching him with his hands digging into the pockets of his sweatpants. His expression hadn’t changed, but something was different. Maybe it was the fact that his eyes didn’t have their usual impish gleam or the fact that his mouth fell into a flat line. 

“I thought you were calling me Rin this weekend.” 

“I am,” Osamu said, turning back to the cake. With the layers stacked, all he had to do was distribute the icing along the outside. “When have I not?”

“Just now.”

A crease formed between Osamu’s eyebrows. “But no one’s around.”

“Right.” Suna leaned forward again, and Osamu made a conscious effort to remain still, even as his arm used the spoon to spread the icing over the rest of the sponge. 

Once he finished, he’d still have to let it refrigerate for at least an hour, but it would be done. They could eat it in the early afternoon, considering last night had been their last sleeping over. Later tonight, they were scheduled to take one of the trains back to Osaka in order to wake up in time for work tomorrow. He had managed to take Friday off; he couldn’t leave Ginjima with all of the work again on Monday, even if he wanted to.

And he did want to. Because once they went back, there was no reason to continue this fake relationship. He had agreed to break up with Suna after the weekend was up. The longer they stayed here, the longer he could pretend that he didn’t have to. 

“Is this because I crawled into your bed last night?” Suna asked.

The question came out of left field, and Osamu’s grip slipped. The spoon didn’t slide off the edge of the cake as neatly as he would have liked. It wasn’t perfect. No one else would notice, but he knew that the small imperfection was there. 

“No,” Osamu said. He used the spoon to smooth it out as best as he could, but it was hard with Suna’s gaze burning into the back of his head. 

“No?”

“No.”

“Because that was on the list,” Suna said, his voice lowered. “It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I did.”

He hadn’t. Osamu wished he could explain himself, but he couldn’t. Not here. Not ever. “It’s not that,” Osamu said. He offered Suna a small smile, but it felt more tense that he wanted it to. “I’m just tired. You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Oh.” Suna shifted his weight to his other foot. His slouch became more noticeable. “Okay, then—”

Another head poked into the kitchen. This time, it was a head of ruffled blonde hair, disheveled from tossing and turning all night. Osamu knew this was the truth, because he’d fallen asleep to the creaking and groaning of the mattress over him. But for once in his life, Osamu welcomed the distraction of Atsumu. It gave him someone else to divert his attention to rather than focusing on Suna’s questions. “Hey!” Atsumu called. “Good mornin’, Sunarin.”

“Morning,” Suna replied with a severe lack of enthusiasm.

“What?” Osamu asked. “Are you not gonna say good mornin’ to me?”

“Maybe.” Atsumu’s head leaned forward more. “Depends on what you’re cookin’! That smells good.”

“It’s birthday cake, not breakfast. Make a few eggs if you’re that hungry.”

But as Osamu cast a look over at the rest of the kitchen, littered with the tools he’d used and the ingredients he’d collected, he understood that he needed to finish this cake before anyone could start breakfast. He needed to clean up after himself first—as he always did whenever he worked in the kitchen. 

“Is it just vanilla?” Atsumu pouted. “You always make vanilla cake. Can’t ya spice it up one year?”

“Papa likes vanilla,” Osamu said. He went over to the refrigerator to ensure there was enough room for the cake, and he bumped the door open with his hip before shoving the cake inside to cool. This would make slicing it open later much easier. “For the record, so does Sakusa.”

Atsumu perked right up at that. “Oh, then, vanilla sounds great. I’m sure it’ll taste good.” His eyes lingered on the mess collected in various spots around the kitchen—in the flour crusting on the counter and the unwashed bowls piling up in the sink and the carton of eggs resting outside. “Couldja clean up so I can make Omi-kun and I some eggs?”

“What about the rest of us, ya scrub?”

“What about the rest of you?” Atsumu’s brows rose into his hairline. It was almost infuriating how blinded he was to the needs of everyone else around him so long as Sakusa was in his line of vision. Sure, to an outsider looking in, it was sweet. Endearing, even. To Osamu, it was irritating as hell. 

“Never mind,” Osamu said. He started putting away the leftover ingredients. “I’ll clean up.”

“Sweet.” 

“I can help,” Suna offered. He had fallen silent with Atsumu’s entrance, but he stepped forward now, aiming for the sink. “I can wash dishes or something.”

“You don’t hafta—”

“I _can_ ,” Suna insisted, and Osamu clenched his teeth together. 

“Wow, Samu,” Atsumu remarked. “You’re making Sunarin clean up after you? How lazy are you?”

Osamu debated whether it was possible for his teeth to crack under the force of his jaw. “I’m not _makin’_ him. He offered. I never said he had to.”

“C’mon, Suna,” Atsumu called, beckoning Suna over in his direction. “Omi-kun recorded some more episodes of that show last night. We can watch while Samu makes us breakfast.”

While part of him wanted to argue against making them breakfast—especially since he had been the only one to take part in making the cake—he knew he would get roped into it anyway. This was something that had become easier with age: picking your battles. But only just. 

“I can help,” Suna repeated weakly.

“S’fine, Rin,” Osamu said. He gently pulled the dirty cake pan out of Suna’s grip. “I’ve got it. You can hang out with Tsumu. I’ll make ya breakfast.”

“Oh.” Suna’s lips turned downward in a frown. Osamu hated knowing he was the reason for it. “Okay.”

As Suna followed Atsumu out of the kitchen, Osamu forced himself not to watch him leave. It took every ounce of strength he had, and even then, it was impossible to ignore the remnants of Suna’s stare against the back of his head. 

* * *

Atsumu insisted on being the one to carry the cake out after their lunch, because of course he did. He didn’t mind stealing the glory and without putting in the effort. If Osamu was in a clearer state of mind, he would’ve cared more. But as it was, everyone knew who was responsible for the creation of the dessert, so he didn’t put up a fight about it. 

“This is delicious, Samu,” their father said, after swallowing his first bite. He offered a toothy grin in Osamu’s direction, and despite the fact that Osamu felt like he’d sunk several feet beneath the earth’s surface, he returned it. “Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome,” Osamu said. On his plate, his own slice was demolished, a scattering of crumbs left behind in its wake. He used his spoon to push them together into a pile. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s perfect.”

Their mother hadn’t offered her verbal praise, but she had given Osamu a thumbs up that spoke louder than words. It didn’t matter that Osamu baked every year for every birthday in the family; she always expressed her gratitude that he did. 

Meanwhile, Atsumu was like a vacuum, scooping spoonful after spoonful of the soft sponge into his mouth. Beside him, Sakusa ate his slice in small, perfect bites. 

Osamu looked sideways—even though he had purposely avoided looking in this direction all day—and found Suna halfway through his slice. Suna had avoided eye contact with him since the conversation in the kitchen, though Osamu couldn’t wrap his head around the reasoning behind it. He hadn’t verbalized his realization nor had he done anything out of the ordinary. Yet, Suna had somehow picked up that something had happened, and he was even less inclined to glance at Osamu. 

He hated it. He hated this. With everything that had happened last night and the weekend coming to a close, Osamu wanted Suna to look at him more than ever. 

But—it was better this way, he reasoned. He didn’t have to confront the earth-shattering guilt of having fallen for Suna somewhere along the way of this little arrangement. He didn’t have to harbor any regret when the inevitable happened and they split up. 

Even when that nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him that it was unfair not to be completely honest with Suna, Osamu reminded himself that this was for the best. He wasn’t meant for companionship. He wasn’t meant for this easy kind of love. He knew this. He’d always known this. 

So why did that upset him? Why did Suna’s indifference dig beneath his skin so much? 

“It’s really good,” Sakusa murmured, drawing Osamu’s attention away from Suna.

“Thanks,” Osamu said.

Atsumu made a garbled noise of appreciation, which only made Osamu wrinkle his nose. There was a smidge of icing on the corner of Atsumu’s mouth. It had been too much to hope that his table manners would improve in the presence of his boyfriend. Osamu opened his mouth to point it out when Sakusa used a napkin to wipe it off himself.

His mouth closed again as he watched the exact moment surprise flickered across Atsumu’s features before smoothing out into something much fonder. It was disgusting. And still, there was an undeniable pang in Osamu’s chest. Not for the image, but the casualness of the action.

Osamu couldn’t do that to Suna without doubt and fear plaguing his senses. 

But he wanted to. 

Osamu gritted his teeth together, forcing all seeds of hope far away, and he twisted in place to face their parents. “Happy birthday, Papa,” he said, offering up the best smile he could muster at the moment. 

“Happy birthday,” Atsumu rushed to add, his mouth still full, making the words come out muffled. He couldn’t ever let Osamu get the upper hand. 

“Thank you,” their father said. He took another spoonful of cake and chewed at it before continuing. “I’m so very glad the two of you could make it out here, too.” This was addressed to Suna and Sakusa, who straightened when their father’s focus fell on them. “It’s rare that we get to do somethin’ that isn’t just the four of us. So, thank you.” He nodded at them. “For makin’ the trip out here.”

Their mother supported his sentiment with a smile of her own. “You two are welcome anytime,” she said. “It’s been a joy to host ya. I look forward to havin’ you over sometime in the future.”

Unfortunately, only one of them would return. 

“It’s no problem,” Sakusa said. His curls bounced as he bobbed his head. “It’s been really nice. I’ve really enjoyed myself. Thank you again.”

Suna didn’t crack a smile, but the sincerity was evident in his voice as he murmured, “You’ve been really gracious hosts. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Atsumu leaned forward to steal some of the remainder of Sakusa’s slice from his plate, and while the two of them entered a short bout of bickering over how much he was allowed to take, Osamu cast his gaze over at Suna one last time. To his surprise, Suna was already watching him. 

But there was no amusement reflected in his irises. There was no mischief or interest immersed in them. Nothing but indifference. Osamu had seen this expression on Suna’s face several times, but it had never been directed at him. Never at him. He hated it.

Osamu was the first to look away. 

* * *

Traveling in the evening was a different ordeal as opposed to traveling in the early morning. The energy crackled in a whole new light. It wasn’t the rush of people commuting to work or reaching a new destination. Rather, it was the pressure of a crowd returning back to their usual routine, aiming to reach the comforts of their home before the next day caught up with them. 

Even though their train car was packed, there was a hush that descended over the space. Most of the passengers rested against the cushions of their sweats, their necks braced against portable pillows, and shut their eyes in anticipation of the long ride. Others perused their phones or magazines in order to pass the time. 

Atsumu and Sakusa had their own way of occupying themselves. With a tablet propped up between them, they reviewed the more critical plays from their last match. Atsumu offered sporadic commentary while Sakusa offered hums of agreement or disagreement depending on what Atsumu said. Even as the lights along the windows were dimmed, every so often, the brightness of the lamps whizzing past illuminated their profiles, and Osamu noted how Atsumu’s face lit up brighter than anything in the near vicinity whenever Sakusa supported his thoughts.

Osamu turned his face to the side. He couldn’t move his body, otherwise Suna would shift. Because even though Suna hadn’t spoken a word to him since this morning, he had dropped his head onto Osamu’s shoulder without hesitation as soon as they had taken their seats. Osamu didn’t have the heart to stop him. If anything, he wanted to savor these last few moments. 

He wanted to remember what it had been like for Suna to offer his affection without question. He wanted to remember what it had been like for his heart to pound because of mere proximity. He wanted to remember what it had been like to have Suna so close—and so far away all at once. 

So, as Suna’s nuzzled into his shoulder, he steeled himself with a sharp breath and leaned onto Suna, too. 

* * *

Osamu waved at Atsumu and Sakusa in the distance before he and Suna split off in another direction. His car was still parked in the general lot of the station, and Osamu fished for his keys before hopping into the driver’s seat. The ride back to their apartment building was spent in silence, and neither of them said a word, even as Suna unlocked the door with his fob and held it open for Osamu to follow him inside. 

Their footsteps echoed against the stairwell as they climbed up to their respective apartments. Suna had been silent the whole way back, even as Osamu had asked him if he had wanted something to eat before dropping them back at their building. Suna was the one to lead the way forward, and even as they reached the second floor, his pace didn’t slow.

“Hey, wait,” Osamu said, reaching for Suna’s elbow. “Suna.”

Suna turned back in reluctance, retracing his last few steps, and once Osamu felt certain that Suna wouldn’t bolt, he dropped his arm. 

“Yeah?” Suna raised an eyebrow. 

“Um, thanks,” Osamu said. He struggled to look Suna in the eye even now. The impish gleam to them had faded, leaving nothing but cool indifference behind, and Osamu didn’t know what to make of it. He couldn’t tell whether it was reality or a figment of his own imagination. “Thanks for yer help this weekend. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re welcome,” Suna replied, adjusting the strap on his backpack. “Is that all?”

Osamu reeled back at the brusqueness in his tone. Suna had never been rude. Not to him. But the bluntness to the question made him falter. “Uh, well—”

No, it was not all, because this was their deadline. Suna had agreed that he would help Osamu up until the birthday weekend, and then this was over. Osamu could come up with some explanation if either Atsumu or his parents asked about Suna later on, but there was no need to drag Suna along any further. There was no need to burden Suna any further. 

But as he tried to explain himself, the words caught in his throat. “I—”

“Osamu, I’m tired,” Suna interrupted. He certainly looked tired: his eyelids drooped as if he could keel over at any moment, and his slouch made Osamu worry that he would fall asleep against the railing. His voice was lower than usual, too, but that could’ve been due to the fact that he didn’t want to disturb their neighbors. “Whatever it is, can it wait?”

“Uh, sure,” Osamu said. Maybe with a good night’s sleep, his mind would connect with his mouth better. He could finish this without hurting Suna. The only person that would wind up hurt was him. “Yeah, tomorrow. That’s fine.”

“Okay.” Suna started back up the stairs.

Osamu felt like he had to say something. He couldn’t leave them off there. Not when Suna had done him a massive favor. “Good night,” he called after him. “Good night, Suna.”

Suna looked over his shoulder when he landed on the next level of stairs. His expression was unreadable as he responded, “Good night, Osamu,” before disappearing up the staircase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh so i kinda messed up while i was writing this. it turns out that make up your mind is fourteen chapters long, not fifteen! i've edited the work to reflect this, but i wanted to apologize that the end is nearer than we all thought. that's on me (and my inability to count). anyway, let me know what you thought!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, this chapter is 7k. no, let's not talk about it. hopefully, this makes you feel a tad better after the angst fest the previous chapter was.

His return back to Onigiri Miya should have come as a relief. It gave him time away from any lingering thoughts of Suna, allowing him to focus on something else. He could lose himself in the constant routine of taking orders and helping out in the kitchen. But then his brain honed in on the question of whether Suna would show up for his lunch break, as he had for the last two weeks, and like that, his mind was occupied with Suna. 

It was startling how easily Suna had infiltrated every aspect of his life. It wasn’t just his parents’ home. It was his workplace; it was the local gymnasium; it was their shared building. No matter where Osamu went, every place had some memory of Suna left behind like a ghost. It made it impossible to think about anything else.

He wondered if he’d infiltrated Suna’s life in the same way—if Suna had thought about him this morning at work for even a fraction of how much Osamu had thought about him. He doubted it. He knew what Suna had agreed to: a fake relationship with an expiration date.

No matter how much Osamu wished that things could be different, he owed it to Suna to follow through with his end of the bargain. Suna had promised him his help. Osamu couldn’t go back on that promise and admit that he had messed up along the way. That he had gotten too close. That he had started hoping it could be real. It wasn’t fair. 

His absence of mind didn’t go unnoticed, and after the lunch hour rush, Ginjima ushered him back into the kitchen, far from the scrutinizing gazes of all the customers. 

As the door swung shut after him, Osamu took his phone out of his pocket to stare at the message he’d received a half hour ago. 

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hey are you coming by for lunch today?
> 
> let me give you some onigiri
> 
> as a thank you :)
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> I can’t make lunch
> 
> I’m behind at work

And that was that. There was no emoji or smile to soften the blow. Nothing. Just brutal honesty that shot straight to Osamu’s heart. 

He was still frowning at the phone screen a minute later when Ginjima burst through the door and caught him by the elbow, leading him further into the kitchen and out the back door to the restaurant. Osamu was powerless to do anything but let Gin drag him along, and when Ginjima shoved the door open, they were met with a gust of smoke and the pungent stench of trash from the dumpster. 

Osamu coughed once before Ginjima pushed him forward, and the sudden force made him trip over his own feet. He managed to catch himself before he face-planted, and he looked back to glare at Ginjima. But for once, Ginjima was completely unfazed. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the door to the kitchen to shut before pouncing on Osamu.

“What is up with ya?” Ginjima demanded. “You’ve been spaced out all day. You would think that havin’ an extra day off would do you some good, but _no._ You’ve been a mess. You’re actually more of a liability right now. I watched you stare at the register for a whole minute before you realized I was tryna get yer attention.”

Osamu’s shoulders slumped. He couldn’t even deny it. There was no defending himself. It was embarrassing how much his thoughts had bled into his actions, so much so that Ginjima had to give him a wake-up call. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Ginjima said, “especially not with that face. You’re mopin’. What for?”

Osamu shrunk in on himself further. “I—” The words were stuck in his throat. He didn’t even know where to begin explaining. The mess he’d started out with from his lie had twisted into something worse before Suna’s interference unwound it, and somehow, Osamu had tangled it all up again. 

“Okay. You don’t wanna talk yet.” Ginjima shoved one hand into his pocket and whipped out his phone. He used one thumb to unlock it. “Then you wanna tell me what these messages mean?” He flipped the screen over and held it up so Osamu could read the chat.

Osamu squinted as he skimmed the messages, a jolt running through him when he registered who else was part of the chat. 

> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Hey Gin
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> What’s up
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Has Osamu said anything to you
> 
> Has he texted you at all
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> About what
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Idk 
> 
> Never mind
> 
> Sorry to bother you
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> ?
> 
> Suna
> 
> Is something wrong
> 
> Is Osamu okay
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> He’s fine
> 
> Sorry for worrying you
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Suna are YOU okay
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> I’m fine :)

The conversation came to an abrupt end there, and it took several attempts of stroking the screen before Osamu realized there was nothing left to read. Suna sounded so hesitant, even through the screen, and it was rare that Suna ever acted without full confidence in what he did. The messages were cryptic as hell, and Osamu didn’t know what to make of them.

What would he have texted Ginjima about? 

“I dunno,” Osamu answered honestly as Ginjima pocketed his phone. “Was that all he said to you all weekend?”

“No. He sent a few pictures. There was one of Atsumu burping at the dinner table. It was hilarious.” Ginjima cracked a smile at the memory, but it fell a moment later. “Just standard stuff. I thought the questions askin’ about you were a bit weird. That’s why I called him out on it. I almost texted you to ask about them, but I decided not to last minute. Didn’t wanna bother ya.”

“I don’t even know what he’s talkin’ about there. I don’t know what I woulda texted you.”

“Then why are you mopin’?” Ginjima tilted his head. “I’m guessin’ it has somethin’ to do with Suna. Or the weekend. Was it Atsumu? Did he bother you too much?”

“No.” Not more than the usual amount. “Atsumu was fine. It went great. Everything was great.”

“Then why do you sound so bitter about it?”

There was a trace of bitterness in his voice. It had seeped in without his notice, leaking through every statement, making everything that came out of his mouth sound like a lie. “Because,” Osamu said, his hands forming fists at his sides. “Because.”

Ginjima took a step back and held his hands up in faux surrender. “Are you about to hit me right now?”

“Ugh. _No._ I’m just—” His knuckles whitened with the force he applied to them. “I don’t know what to do.”

“About what?”

“About _Suna._ ” Even saying his name took a tremendous amount of effort. Osamu dug his hand into his own pocket for his phone, and he brought up the recent messages from his conversation with Suna and held them up for Ginjima to read. 

It took Ginjima a few seconds to absorb the words before saying, “So? He’s caught up at work.”

“He’s _not_ caught up at work. Well. Maybe.” Osamu could acknowledge that taking a weekend off might’ve put Suna behind on some of his deadlines. He very well could be rushing to submit an article or a series of photographs to his superiors. But it wasn’t about that. It was about the curt manner in which he’d dismissed Osamu. “But isn’t that weird? He’s made it to lunch every day these past two weeks.”

“Yeah, sure.” It was obvious that Ginjima was struggling to keep up with Osamu’s train of thought. His jaw slackened. “But that was to prepare for this weekend, wasn’t it? It’s over now.”

“Yeah,” Osamu agreed, and it made his insides twist until it was almost too painful to bear. That was how this had all started: the reminder that they had a deadline to fulfill. “It’s over now.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Or is it over now?”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Gin?”

Ginjima stepped forward, no longer worried about the prospect of Osamu turning his anger on him—not that Osamu ever would. He tilted his head up to peer directly into Osamu’s gaze, searching for some truth that Osamu would never give him willingly. He was only a few centimeters shorter than Osamu, putting them at level height, and Osamu couldn’t back away as Ginjima found an answer to his unspoken question. 

“Oh,” Ginjima said, the single word enough to cut through Osamu’s resolve.

“Fine. _Fine._ ” Osamu turned his head away, fixating on the dumpster left off to the side. A few flies hovered around the plastic bags stacked inside, and he noticed a napkin crumbled up into a ball by one of the wheels of the structure. “I like Suna. You happy now?”

“Are _you_?” Ginjima’s brows lifted. “I toldja to be careful. Remember? I said you hide yer heart a little better than Atsumu, but you both care very deeply.”

A snarl escaped his throat. He already knew this. He didn’t need Ginjima to rub it in his face. “Now is not the time for an ‘I toldja so,’ Gin.”

“I know. Sorry.” Ginjima stepped back, and like that, the distance that grew between them was enough to make Osamu feel like he could breathe a little easier. He turned back to look at Gin. He wasn’t Kita, who could intimidate the twins with a single glare and a round of cool logic, but it was unnerving having someone watch you when you had something to hide. “So. You like Suna. I’m assumin’ as more than a friend.”

Osamu glared. “Obviously.”

Ginjima raised his hands in surrender. “Just makin’ sure. Didn’t wanna get the wrong idea.” Then, to Osamu’s complete surprise, a faint smile ghosted across his lips as his hands dug into his pockets. “I’m happy for you, Osamu. Really.”

“What? Why? I’m _miserable_ right now.”

“I know,” Ginjima said. “That’s how it goes a lot of the time. But you’re miserable about somethin’ that isn’t work-related. You’re passionate about somethin’ else. It’s a refreshin’ change. So. You like Suna. How’d ya figure that out?”

“Does it matter?” The result was always the same. Suna was still avoiding him, regardless. 

“Guess not. So you didn’t end it with him, I’m assumin’?”

“No,” Osamu said, his glare softening. “I tried to last night. But I couldn’t spit it out, and he was tired. So I let it go.”

“What?” Ginjima’s eyes widened. “You tried breakin’ up with him anyway? I thought you just said you like him.”

“I do.” Osamu cocked his head to the side. “I do like him. That’s why this sucks.” When Ginjima’s confusion didn’t seem to clear, Osamu clarified further. “Suna agreed to this arrangement on the condition that we’d end this after Papa’s birthday weekend. That happened. He didn’t sign up for the rest of this. He didn’t account for the fact that I’d actually start to like him along the way.” Again, Osamu’s shoulders slumped. “It’s unfair. I can’t spring this on him.”

“I guess I see the logic in that.” Even though Ginjima said this, the pinched expression he wore said something very different. “You feel guilty ‘cause you were convinced that this was only gonna last two weeks, and you don’t think he’d actually wanna stick around longer.” Ginjima’s eyes narrowed. “Or are you scared? You like someone, and you don’t know what to do with these feelings.”

“Shut up, Gin.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

Osamu scowled. “He’s avoidin’ me, anyway.”

“Yeah, probably because you’re bein’ _weird._ ” Ginjima braced himself against the wall, one leg extended further out as he slouched backwards. “What happened exactly? Didja notice a point where he started actin’ weird?”

“I dunno,” Osamu said. It was a pathetic response, but it was the best he had. Suna had done his part well the entire weekend, and even when he’d refused to look at or speak to Osamu, no one had suspected anything. If there was one point where things had started going downhill— “Sunday morning was a bit odd. I was bakin’ the cake for Papa’s birthday, and he made some remark about how I stopped callin’ him Rin. I’d called him Rin the entire weekend. I dunno. I kinda shooed him out of the kitchen, and after that, he was kinda distant.”

“Gee.” Ginjima squinted. “I wonder why he’s avoidin’ you. Osamu, you’re makin’ it _real_ obvious that you have, like, no experience when it comes to romantic relationships.”

“What? What did I do wrong?”

“You shooed him out of the kitchen?”

“I didn’t, really. Tsumu invited him to watch TV, so I said he should go.”

“Didja consider that he might’ve preferred stayin’ with you?”

“I—” Osamu faltered. “I guess not.”

Ginjima gave him a considering look. “I know the kitchen is yer sacred space,” he said. “So imagine how Suna feels when you tell him you don’t want him there.”

“It’s not—” Osamu didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t know how to explain himself. Because as Ginjima explained how Suna might’ve interpreted what Osamu considered a normal reaction on his part, it made his stomach sink further and further down. “I didn’t—”

“Obviously, it’s fine to have yer own space,” Ginjima continued. “It’s downright nauseatin’ to have to be around someone else all the time. But then, you hafta be honest and open about it.”

“I _didn’t_ mind him there, though,” Osamu cut in, the desperation thick and palpable.

“Then why didja make him leave?”

“I didn’t—” But the sentence was left incomplete, because even if he hadn’t made the explicit command, it had been enough. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t _know._ ”

“Is it ‘cause you freaked out?” Ginjima raised an eyebrow, and it infuriated Osamu that he could manage to act so calmly about this. Inside Osamu, it felt as though a storm was brewing. “You didn’t know what to do about it?”

“Gin.”

“I think,” Ginjima said, his expression smoothing out, “that, no matter what, Suna deserves yer complete honesty. I mean, he agreed to this ridiculous charade at no personal gain.” His voice dropped into something more soothing, even if the effect was lost on Osamu. “I think even if it doesn’t work out the way you want it to, you owe him that much.”

“I know,” Osamu said, his eyelids fluttering shut for a brief second. “I _know._ ”

“You hafta tell him.”

“I will.”

“You hafta be honest with him.”

“I will.” Osamu released an unsteady breath. “I like him a lot, Gin. I like him a lot more than I thought I would.”

“I know,” Ginjima said. “I like him, too. He’s funny. Weird. He’s not what I figured would be yer type, but I get it.”

“I like him _so_ much.” Even admitting it out loud sent a sharp pain to his chest. “I don’t wanna hurt him.”

“I know,” Ginjima repeated, the only consolation he could give. “I know you don’t.”

“Fuck’s sake.”

“It’s like I said,” Ginjima murmured as he turned to open the back door, the warm air rushing out, “you and Atsumu aren’t all that different. You both get caught up in yer emotions quickly. He wears his heart on his sleeve. It’s easier to reach. Yours is more hidden.” Ginjima gave him a sympathetic smile that did little to soften the blow of his next words. “But the effect is the same.”

* * *

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hey suna
> 
> can we talk later?
> 
> i really need to talk to you

Those messages never received a response. As Osamu checked one last time, it was with a resignation that Suna was confirmed to be avoiding him. Even if he was bogged down with tasks at his job, he always opened his messages several times throughout the day. It wasn’t the greatest work ethic, but it was his. That meant the lack of a reply cut even deeper. 

Suna avoiding him wasn’t a mere possibility. It was now a certainty. If he wanted to speak to Suna and get everything out in the open, he would have to seek Suna out himself. 

It was a relief when it came time for the restaurant to close. Osamu sent all of the employees off, including Ginjima, insisting that he could lock up on his own. Ginjima departed with another sympathetic smile. He had been reluctant to leave, pestering Osamu with questions to assure that it was alright for him to go, and Osamu had stood firm. If he was honest, he wanted to be alone. 

It gave him the chance to calm the thoughts fluttering about in his head before returning to his apartment. Once he did, it meant that he had to confront Suna—one way or another. He was on a countdown, as he always had been, and the deadline was far more glaring than it had been before. 

Osamu became so lost in his addled mind that he didn’t register the front door swinging open. He popped his head up from behind the register. “Hey, we’re closed—”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re closed,” Atsumu said, kicking the door shut behind him. He stalked over to the counter, plopped himself in a seat, and dropped his head onto the surface of the table, his cheek flattened against the side.

All Osamu could do was blink. He had seen Atsumu yesterday. He had never imagined that he would be seeing him again so soon, even if they lived as close to each other as they did. He had assumed that Atsumu would be too caught up in his team’s practice earlier to even reach out, and Osamu hadn’t expected him to. He certainly hadn’t planned to. 

But this version of Atsumu was different from the one he’d spent time with all weekend. It wasn’t a rarity for Atsumu to wander into Onigiri Miya after a loss or an unsuccessful practice, but it had been a while since it had happened. Usually, Atsumu was easy to console. He was simple-minded: a drink and a plate of onigiri got him back on his feet. Osamu had the feeling that the solution would be a bit more complicated tonight. He didn’t know why. 

“So,” Osamu said, standing up straight. “Bad day?”

Atsumu let out a loud moan of despair, and Osamu tried his best not to roll his eyes at his brother’s knack for dramatics. Maybe something terrible had happened, but if it were serious, Atsumu would’ve spit it out immediately. It seemed like this was more of a ranting session than anything else. 

He’d let Atsumu speak first. While Osamu wiped down the counters and stacked the chairs, Atsumu remained motionless. A bit of drool pooled out from where he pressed his face against the counter, and Osamu made a note to disinfect it before tomorrow morning. If it were any other time, Osamu might’ve been more inclined to drag it out of Atsumu sooner. But as it was, Osamu had his own reasons for postponing his journey home. He figured he could be a decent brother this once and listen to his problems—no matter how long they talked.

“Hey.” Osamu swatted the back of Atsumu’s head with a rag. “I’d like to get home at a reasonable hour. Whenever you’re done mopin’ and you feel like talkin’, lemme know.”

Atsumu groaned again as Osamu walked around behind the register. 

“It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Ugh.” It was the closest thing to an actual word from Atsumu since he’d arrived. It was the first hint that he was coming around to verbalizing his emotions, which was a good sign. It meant that he might actually explain himself before the night was over. “ _Ugh._ It’s so embarrassin’.”

Osamu knew all about being embarrassed. Though, when it came to Atsumu, Osamu had always thought that Atsumu managed to go the extra mile when it came to looking like an idiot in public. “What didja do this time?”

“Who says I did anythin’?”

“Yer face, dumbass.”

“Ugh,” Atsumu repeated. He didn’t lift his head from the counter, but he did shift so that his chin rested against the surface. He peered up at Osamu with a defeated look in his eyes, and it was enough to make Osamu sympathize a little more with whatever his plight was. “You’re gonna laugh.”

“Yeah,” Osamu said, because it was the truth. “Prolly. Tell me, and find out for sure.”

“You’re gonna be so _annoyin’_ about it.”

“Yeah. Most definitely.”

“ _Ugh._ ” A crease formed between Atsumu’s eyebrows, making his entire persona appear even more pathetic. Somehow, it was like he’d aged backwards, and the person in front of him resembled more of the gawky teenager he had been. “This is so lame.”

Osamu made another noncommittal noise while putting the rag away behind the counter. When he straightened, Atsumu’s mouth was parted, as if he was in the middle of finding the right words.

“Out with it.”

“ _Fine._ ” Atsumu heaved a long sigh that went through his entire body. “Fine. I like Omi-kun. I like him a lot, okay?”

Osamu had been prepared for a lot of things. He had anticipated something drastic, like that something had happened with the team, or that one of his players was struggling with Atsumu’s instructions, or that he had done something to irritate Sakusa. Everything was a viable option, but hearing Atsumu mumble that he liked Sakusa as though it was the worst thing in the world felt lackluster in comparison to what he had expected.

“Huh?”

“I like Omi-kun.” Atsumu’s lower lip jutted out. “I like him so much.”

It was eerily reminiscent of what Osamu had told Ginjima earlier today, so much so that it almost made Osamu shudder. “I would hope so,” Osamu said. “Otherwise there isn’t much of a reason to date him.”

For some reason, this sentence in particular set Atsumu off. He formed a full-on pout, gnawing at his lower lip while his eyes widened to a comedic effect. “That’s the thing!” Atsumu cried out. “I like him so much, and we’re not datin’!”

Osamu stilled. What? “What?”

Atsumu shrunk into himself, his shoulders rising up to his ears as he sunk into the seat. He couldn’t seem to meet Osamu’s eyes, instead letting them roam around the entire restaurant. “We’re not datin’,” he mumbled after a few seconds. “I want to date him so bad.”

“Okay.” Osamu held up a hand, because there was no way he was hearing this right. This was so ridiculous. It made the entire weekend feel like a weird fever dream. Had he hallucinated the whole thing? Because—last he saw—Atsumu and Sakusa were in a serious, committed relationship. This was clear to him. It was evident in the way Atsumu looked at Sakusa. He didn’t have to be Atsumu’s twin to notice the affection there. “Back up. Did you break up?”

“No,” Atsumu said. “You can’t really break up when you never started datin’ to begin with.”

“What— _what_?”

Atsumu twiddled his thumbs. It was evident how nerve-wracking it was for him to admit this, yet Osamu was too lost in his own confusion to offer more of his own sympathy up. “Omi-kun and I haven’t really been datin’. It’s all been fake.”

Several thoughts came to mind a second later: (1) that Atsumu was the biggest idiot he’d ever met, (2) that _Osamu_ might be his strongest competitor, and (3) he was going to kill Atsumu. And maybe Sakusa, depending on if the mood called for it.

Without thinking it through, Osamu reached across the counter and grabbed a fistful of Atsumu’s track jacket. Atsumu’s eyes bulged at the abrupt motion, and his hands came up on a reflex in an attempt to loosen Osamu’s grip, but Osamu didn’t budge, even as he hauled Atsumu forward until their foreheads bumped together.

“Are you _serious_?” Osamu screeched. “Are you _fuckin’ kiddin’ me_?”

“Okay.” Atsumu’s fingers tried to peel off Osamu’s to no avail. Osamu barely noticed the scratches Atsumu’s nails left against his knuckles. “I knew you would be mad, but this seems like a bit of an overreaction, Samu. Let go. I’m a wounded man.”

“Not yet,” Osamu hissed. “But you’re about to be. How couldja _fake date_ Sakusa Kiyoomi? Why wouldja do that?”

“ _Huh_? Do you like him or somethin’?”

“No!” There was only one person on Osamu’s mind at the moment. “But you obviously do. So why wouldja fake date him?”

“It’s a long story.” Atsumu tried again to loosen Osamu’s grip. “Can ya let me go, please? You look like you might actually kill me.”

With a long sigh, Osamu peeled his fingers back, one by one. As soon as he drew his arm back, Atsumu plopped back into his seat, adjusting the collar of his jacket with a huff. 

“Okay.” Atsumu dusted himself off, smoothing out the wrinkles that Osamu had created. “Okay. Now that you look less like you’re about to commit a murder, are ya willin’ to listen to me with an open mind?”

“Sure.” Osamu tilted his head to the side. “I might commit a murder after, but we’ll see. Stay tuned.”

Atsumu’s lip curled for a second before he became straight-faced again. “So. It’s actually not as complicated as I made it out to be.” A pause. “Didja see that article about me a month back?”

“Atsumu, the media talks about you _every single day._ I could not care less. Half the time they speculate about who the hell does yer hair. I give zero fucks. I can’t keep up with every article about you.”

“Jeez,” Atsumu said. “Say that a little less harshly, thanks? It’s great knowin’ I have the support of my lovin’ twin brother.”

“You do,” Osamu insisted. And he did. But Osamu didn’t need to read another article discussing all of Atsumu’s likes, dislikes, and his current concerns. He had better things to do to occupy his time. “Otherwise, I would use those articles to mock you a lot more.”

“Fine. Fair point. Well, there was one a while back. A month ago. Can’t remember which magazine. I just saw it online. Someone linked it to me on Twitter. It said something along the lines of—‘Maybe if Miya Atsumu wasn’t such a volleyball-crazed lunatic who had somethin’ else goin’ for himself, he wouldn’t feel the need to obsess over gettin’ into the first division.’”

Osamu’s shoulders tensed. He had not seen that article. He would have remembered it if he had. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Atsumu waved it off with a flap of his hand, but Osamu didn’t have to read his mind to be able to tell it had bothered Atsumu. It was rare for the opinions of others to ever get under Atsumu’s skin. Back when they were young, Osamu had wished that Atsumu would care what everyone else thought a little more. He had hoped it would make Atsumu a kinder, more considerate person. But with time, he had appreciated that part of Atsumu more. Osamu wasn’t like that: he wouldn’t be able to bear the entire world hating him. 

“It was whatever,” Atsumu said. “Just some commentator who was upset I beat his team—or somethin’. I dunno. But it got me thinkin’ about what Mama always says—about not livin’ to work. I got really in my head about it. Omi-kun noticed.”

Of course Sakusa noticed. Atsumu didn’t see things from Osamu’s perspective, but from where Osamu sat, it was noticeable that Sakusa watched Atsumu as much as Atsumu watched him. “Uh-huh.”

“He came over one evening, and he waited for me to explain everythin’. And then, he just…offered.”

Osamu’s lip curled before he could help it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the rest of this sentence. “Offered what?”

“Offered to pretend to date me,” Atsumu clarified, and Osamu’s chest loosened in relief. “Just for a little while. Just to keep the public eye off me in that regard. We had only started to, like, a few days before Mama came to Osaka.”

That created a small timeline. “Then why didja tell Mama that you were datin’ someone? You _lied._ ” Never mind that Osamu had _also_ lied. 

“Because I figured she would find out, anyway,” Atsumu said. He braced his elbow against the counter and used his palm to hold his chin up. “I thought you all would. I thought since Omi-Omi and I would be around each other all the time, the press would pick up on it, and you would demand answers. I thought it was best to leave everythin’ out in the open.”

Sure, but Atsumu hadn’t left everything out in the open. He could’ve said that he and Sakusa were really in a relationship, but he didn’t. “Then why didn’t you explain the full story? You coulda said that it was all fake from the beginning.”

Atsumu’s lips turned downward. “I know, I _know._ That was my intention, actually. But Mama got so excited about it that I just let it go.”

This. _This_ was his explanation. Everything had been fabricated since the beginning. If Osamu had known, then he wouldn’t have felt the ridiculous urge to compete with Atsumu, and he wouldn’t have lied himself. He wouldn’t have roped Suna into being his fake boyfriend. None of this would’ve happened if Atsumu had been honest from the very beginning.

But the rational part of him—the one that sounded more and more like Ginjima with each passing day—whispered that he had his own part to play in this, too. He could’ve let Atsumu dig his own grave. He didn’t have to dig one beside him. 

“But you’ve always liked Sakusa?” Osamu clarified, because this—at least—had to be true. He had seen this with his own eyes, even before the weekend had started. “Right? Even before he offered to date you?”

“Right,” Atsumu admitted, dropping his arm. “I liked him for a while. No matter how absurd the idea of fake datin’ someone is, I thought that we’d at least get to spend more time together. And it would take some of the negative attention off me. A double win.”

Osamu’s head lowered. “You’re stupid. You’re so, _so_ stupid. I wanna kill you.”

“What? Why? I thought you would make fun of me! Why do you wanna kill me?”

“Because,” Osamu said, spreading his palms flat against the counter. “Because yer little lie encouraged _me_ to lie!”

Atsumu squinted. “What?”

“I ain’t datin’ Suna for real, dumbass.” Osamu wished the rag was still in his hands, just so he could swat it across Atsumu’s face one last time. It wouldn’t ease his frustration, but it might have made him feel a little better. “We’re fake datin’.”

A silence elapsed over them, the tension thick and palpable, but Osamu waited for Atsumu to speak first. Atsumu opened his mouth once, then closed it, then opened it again—

“You’re lyin’,” Atsumu said. “There’s no way you’re fake datin’ Sunarin. You like him.”

It was another bitter stab to Osamu’s heart, and his mouth twisted as he said, “We are fake datin’.” He dropped his head again. “And I like him.”

The silence lasted longer this time, the seconds ticking by in painful agony, and even as Osamu watched Atsumu, gauging for his reaction, he became more difficult to read. When Atsumu slapped his hands against the counter, almost exactly how Osamu had done so when he’d announced that he was also in a relationship, Osamu startled. 

“Are _you fuckin’ kiddin’ me_?” Atsumu demanded, his lip curled back. Osamu wondered if this was how Atsumu had felt moments ago, facing him down. “You’re fake datin’ Sunarin. This entire time, you were lyin’, too.”

“I lied ‘cause _you_ lied!”

Atsumu shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. For all you know, my relationship with Omi-kun coulda been real and legit. But you roped Suna into datin’ you ‘cause you couldn’t stand losin’. As fuckin’ usual.”

“You can’t win when you’re not _actually datin’ someone._ ”

Atsumu shook his head again. “I can’t believe this.”

“Technically, I didn’t even rope Suna into doin’ it,” Osamu said. “Not exactly. He offered.” This made Atsumu pause, his lips flattening into a straight line. “When he told you that he was my boyfriend, I was just as surprised as you.” Osamu crossed his arms over his chest. “I explained everythin’ to him later on, and he offered to be my fake boyfriend. When I told you and Mama I was seein’ someone, there was no one in the picture.”

“You’re so stupid, Samu,” Atsumu said, his voice low, and Osamu would’ve been more offended if there wasn’t some semblance of truth to the statement. “So fuckin’ stupid.”

“So are you.”

“Fine. Whatever. Maybe.”

Both of them slouched over the counter, bracing their forearms against the cool surface in mirrored positions. The same sense of despair he felt was reflected in Atsumu’s gaze, and it made Osamu feel a smidge better to know that he wasn’t alone in this. Even with all of his idiocy, the one who managed to match him with every foolish step he took was Atsumu. 

“So,” Osamu said, the first to break the first gentle standstill in the conversation. “What happened with Sakusa, exactly? What got you all depressed?”

“Nothin’, really,” Atsumu admitted. His chin pressed further into his forearms. “I really like him. It just hits me in flashes, ya know. I wanted to talk about it.”

Osamu didn’t say it, but he knew the feeling well. “Yeah.” A pause. “How long is yer little fake relationship meant to last?”

Atsumu shrugged. “I dunno. I imagine one day he’ll be sick of me, and he’ll say somethin’. And that’ll be it.”

Osamu tried his best not to scowl, but Atsumu made it very difficult. From his position, Atsumu’s feelings weren’t unrequited. Not at all. “That sucks,” was all he said.

“What about you and Sunarin? How long are you gonna keep this goin’ for?”

Osamu glanced over at the lone clock that rested high against the wall in the restaurant. “It was meant to end last night,” he said, “when we got back.”

At that, Atsumu lifted his head. “Huh? But I thought you said you like him.”

“I do,” Osamu said. “But Suna didn’t sign up for all of this. We made things clear: one fake relationship until after Papa’s birthday, and that’s it. I can’t string him along because I developed feelings along the way.”

Atsumu’s eyes narrowed. “You’re so stupid, Samu.”

“What now?”

“You like him, and you’re lettin’ him walk away.”

Osamu scoffed. “Lettin’ him walk away? Tsumu, this is a _fake relationship._ I can’t ask for more.”

“What if Suna wants more, too?”

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Say that again.”

“What if Suna wants more, too?” Atsumu repeated, slower this time. “What if you’re not the only one that caught feelings?”

No. Osamu couldn’t let himself consider that possibility. Not when he’d always felt so lackluster in comparison to Suna. Suna could have anyone he wanted. There was no reason for him to settle for Osamu—with all of his eccentricities and his hectic schedule and his idiocy. 

“He doesn’t,” Osamu said, the words leaving a bitterness behind on his tongue. “He doesn’t.”

“Are you sure about that?” Atsumu’s eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t see what I saw over the weekend. I never suspected that you two were fake datin’ ‘cause you act domestic as fuck together. You fuckin’ lie down on top of each other, and he hugs you while you cook, and he shows off in front of you. That ain’t the kind of shit that happens when you’re in a fake relationship.”

For some odd reason, Osamu felt defensive. This all sounded hypocritical coming from Atsumu, especially when he was in the same position. “You’re one to talk,” Osamu said with a snarl. “You fuckin’ wear Sakusa’s clothes, and he wipes fuckin’ frosting off yer mouth. That doesn’t seem fake at all.”

Atsumu sat up straight in his seat. “What are you sayin’?”

“I’m sayin’ you’re bein’ an idiot. Who the _fuck_ offers to be someone’s fake boyfriend just to help them feel better without already havin’ some interest in them? I’m tellin’ ya that you’re bein’ an idiot ‘cause Sakusa clearly likes you!”

Atsumu scoffed. “He does not!”

“Yes, he does! Idiot.”

“You’re one to talk.” Atsumu jabbed a finger in his direction. “Suna _offered_ to be yer fake boyfriend without even knowin’ you! He was obviously fuckin’ interested in you from the beginning!”

“What?” Osamu demanded despite the flicker of hope that nestled in the pit of his stomach. “No, he’s not. He _isn’t._ Shut yer trap.”

“Suna fuckin’ likes you,” Atsumu said. “It’s so obvious. It’s actually disgustin’.”

“Well, Sakusa likes _you_. For some odd reason.”

“Hey!”

The two fell into another lapse of silence, mulling over what the other had said. It was true that Suna had offered to be Osamu’s fake boyfriend, even without Osamu instigating it first. It had been Suna who had thrown out the first flirtatious remark. It had been Suna who had called him _hot._ But Osamu had dialed that all down to Suna’s character: he incited chaos wherever he roamed, and most often, it happened near Osamu.

He didn’t usually trust Atsumu’s observational skills. Atsumu could be as dense as a brick a lot of the time, unaware of the emotions of those around him, too caught up in his own actions to care about whether his words stung. But maybe it was because Atsumu was in a similar predicament. This time, his remarks held more weight to them. Whether it was due to the fact that it was what Osamu wanted to hear—deep down—or whether it was due to the fact that for once Atsumu seemed genuine, he couldn’t decipher the reason.

But Osamu wanted to believe him.

“You really think Omi-kun likes me?” Atsumu asked after a minute had gone by.

“Yeah, loser,” Osamu said with a long sigh. “He likes you. Anyone can see it.”

As his comments sunk in, a pleased little smile overtook Atsumu’s face, and his whole being seemed to come alive with a new light. He sat up straighter in his seat, beaming and bright, and the dullness to his eyes vanished. There was a renewed gleam in them. “Really?”

“Yes. Stupid.”

“Suna likes you, too,” Atsumu murmured, and the sincerity caught Osamu by surprise yet again. Whether or not it was true, Atsumu whole-heartedly believed it. That made Osamu feel a little better about the whole situation. “I can tell.” A pause. “You shouldn’t break up with him. Not if ya like him. Stop bein’ a fuckin’ coward, and tell him how you feel.”

Osamu made an indignant noise deep in his throat. 

“I don’t care if you think it isn’t fair on Suna ‘cause it isn’t what he signed up for,” Atsumu went on. “He deserves to know. You should tell him.”

“I dunno.”

“You should.”

Osamu chewed on the inside of his mouth. “You should tell Sakusa, too, then. If you really like him, screw datin’ for the camera. Just date the guy for real.”

Atsumu’s lower lip jutted out. “Ugh.”

“Don’t be a coward.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Atsumu insisted, his eyes screwing shut. “I’m not a coward!”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Am not! You’re the coward.”

“I bet I’ll end up talkin’ to Suna sooner than you’ll confess to Sakusa,” Osamu said, because he couldn’t help it. It was like a reflex—taunting Atsumu. It came as easily as breathing did. “You don’t have the guts to admit yer feelings to him.”

Atsumu smacked his palms against the table. “Yes, I do!” he cried out. “I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him right now.” 

Osamu started laughing until it looked like Atsumu was being completely serious. Atsumu zipped up the front of his track jacket until it reached his chin, and he slid out of the chair, nearly toppling it over in his hurry to stand up. 

“What are you doin’?” Osamu said, his eyes bulging as he watched Atsumu run a hand through his hair in a desperate attempt to make it more presentable. “What are you actually doin’?”

“I’m gonna find Omi-kun,” Atsumu said, like it was obvious. Seemingly satisfied, he dropped his arm and strode toward the front door. “I’m gonna confess because—unlike _you_ —I’m not a coward!”

A snarl escaped Osamu’s lips. It was a blessing in disguise that he’d finished locking up while Atsumu had stewed in his thoughts, trying to figure out how to explain himself, because it meant that all he had to do was lock the door to the restaurant and hit the lights on his way out. 

As Atsumu dashed for the door, Osamu snatched up his own jacket and jammed his arms through the sleeves while hitting the light switches with his elbow. The door banged shut as Atsumu let himself out, but Osamu was a few steps behind him, and he stepped outside to a gust of fresh air as he jammed his set of keys into the lock and waited to hear the click. In his rush, he could barely find the right one, much less fit it into the lock. 

“Bye, Samu!” Atsumu called over his shoulder as he stormed down the sidewalk in the direction of where he’d parked his car. “Don’t be a coward! Good luck!”

“Shit,” Osamu muttered as he chipped his nail against the metal of the lock. With another twist, he heard the familiar click, and he yanked the keys out as swiftly as he could. He spotted Atsumu’s figure in the distance and hollered at him. “I’m not a coward! Good luck, asshole! You’ll need it!”

Osamu waited for Atsumu to turn around before lifting his middle finger into the air. As soon as he registered that Atsumu had seen it, Osamu bolted in the opposite direction. He had one destination in mind: he had to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no other words than the miyas are both very dumb. let me know what you thought!

**Author's Note:**

> say hi on [twitter](https://twitter.com/akaashikejis)


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